


The Ruination Of Responsibility

by Moxibustion (RyuuzaKochou)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Extravaganza Week At The Wayne Manor, Family Bonding, Female Tim Drake, Fluff, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Pre-Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Reconciliation, TW: Mention Of An Offscreen Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 89,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyuuzaKochou/pseuds/Moxibustion
Summary: It's Extravaganza Week at the Manor. Anything you want, anything you can dream of, as long as it's fun, fun, fun!Timianna Drake has a somewhat fabulously complicated relationship with fun.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 201
Kudos: 614
Collections: Anodyne fics





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Dark Knight Strikes Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16172390) by [audreycritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter). 
  * Inspired by [Sweet One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733248) by [Musafir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musafir/pseuds/Musafir). 



> Welcome all to my second ever attempt at writing for the Batfam. This story sprung out of the well-explored idea that Bruce became a much less playful character after Jason's death. Unfortunately the one who probably took the brunt of that change was the Robin who came after; Tim Drake.
> 
> I wrote the character as a girl because... reasons? (Okay, I kind of just like genderbending as a concept) I also think that women are much more expected to absorb emotional damage of others silently and without complaint, both forgiving, forgetting.... and forgotten.
> 
> All praise and glory to my tireless betas: njw & FictionSuit. Also a shout-out to Capes and Coffee Discord, who inspired a lot of this.

_“Timianna?_ ”

_“Yes, Father?”_

_“Do you want to go somewhere fun?”_

_“Fun?”_

*

“What’s your plan, Timi?”

Timi looked up from her phone. Slowly, like she wasn’t quite convinced of her brother’s sanity, she, master of all contingencies everywhere, said, “I think you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that.”

“You haven’t been listening, have you?” Dick grinned at her knowingly.

Timi had been, but only absently. There wasn’t much information to be gained in the furore of breakfast at the Wayne Manor. Still, she sorted through her mental records until she found… “Extravaganza Week? What?” Why was Dick talking about that thing Bruce had done for Cass three years ago?

“It’s _summertime_ , babydoll,” Dick cheered. “Time for the Annual Wayne Family Extravaganza Week. I did one for Damian last year, it was a _riot_.”

“Oh,” Timi pushed back a couple of long tendrils of hair, searching for a response to that. “I didn’t realise…”

“That it was that time of year? For someone who regularly forgets her birthday, colour me surprised.”

She scowled at him. She’d forgotten _once_.

“Sooo, what’s your plan?” Dick asked excitedly. “Since we haven’t got any newcomers to the family— this year, at least, though we all know _that’s_ coming around again— Bruce decided we each get a day. One day to do whatever you want to do, as long as it’s fun, fun, fun!”

Before Timi could open her mouth to reply, Damian broke in haughtily. “Oh please, Richard, no one cares what uninspired amusements appeal to Drake. We’ll probably end up locked in a dark room, staring at numbers on a screen.”

“Dami, don’t be mean,” Dick scolded him mildly. “Besides, you get to do your thing, whatever it is; she’s free to pick hers, whatever she wants.”

“Besides, if anyone’s going to pick being locked in a dark room, it’s going to be Bruce,” Stephanie chimed in over her oatmeal.

Right at that moment Bruce himself walked into the kitchen and paused warily at the group stare he was getting. “Good… morning,” he said eventually, sweating faintly.

They all grinned at him with teeth showing, which made him sweat a bit more.

“Plans,” Dick jabbed a finger at Timi. “You’ve got to give us something soon. We’re going to have to schedule like crazy to get this all working. Even Jason’s going to show up.”

“He just wanted to shoot us all and we’re giving him the paintballs to do it,” Stephanie added, sotto voce, while Bruce sighed resignedly and nodded.

“Um,” put on the spot, Timi fumbled for an appropriate response. “I don’t know what I want to do. Go to a movie maybe?”

“That’s it?” Dick howled, deflating. “But that’s so boring!”

“Pedestrian,” Damian snorted contemptuously. “As usual.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to pick something more complicated?” Stephanie asked. “I mean, you can literally have anything.”

Bruce looked at her curiously over the morning paper.

Timi’s phone chimed again, giving her a handy escape from the inquisition. “My ride’s here. I’ve got to go.” She rose and hastily grabbed her bag.

“Think of something else,” Dick called after her. “Something fun!”


	2. Indoctrination

_Timi had planned this down to the last act. Bus timetables, walking times, alternate routes in case of unexpected rogues or other traffic issues, the works. She’d already calculated the most likely place to get the best view._

_She was prepared for the fact that her calculations might be wrong. It might take several nights, in fact, to complete the operation. It was fine; she was so excited by the prospect of doing it at all that the time it might take to complete wasn’t upsetting in the least._

_She’d been prepared for delays. She hadn’t prepared for failure._

_She couldn’t climb onto the roof she’d chosen._

_She tried. She steeled herself and stepped onto the rusty, rickety fire escape ladder, forced herself not to look down for twelve hair-raising, gut-knotting steps…_

_… until the whole structure rattled and squealed ominously. Timi scrambled down like her life depended on it._

_After thirty straight minutes of trying to psych herself up to try again, Timi gave up and went home._

_She pulled down all the pages and data on her ‘operation board’. She’d had such a good time planning it all out, cracking all the puzzles, crunching all the numbers._

_But it wasn’t any fun if she couldn’t complete the mission._

*

“Tam,” Timi broached the subject at the executive coffee room they’d claimed as their own. “Do you think I’m boring?”

Tam Fox looked up from her phone, where she was furiously emailing another hapless intern to get on with their job. The older girl blinked. “… No?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“Sorry, it’s just,” Tam waved a hand. “That came out of nowhere for me. I once saw you shrivel the ball sacks of a roomful of good-old-boys with a couple of PowerPoint slides, though, so, _no,_ Timianna Drake, I definitely don’t consider you boring. What made you ask?”

“Dick was talking about having an Extravaganza Week…”

“Oh,” Tam’s face broke into a gleeful smile. “It’s summer break, right? Wow, the year sure went fast if we’ve hit Extravaganza Week already.”

Timi went mute, too astonished to speak. Extravaganza Week was, apparently, a _thing_ , like Dick had made it out to be. A Wayne family tradition. This baffled her; she’d never even heard of it before.

“Wait,” Tam frowned. “Who’s it for this year? It’s for your first year at the Manor, but there’s no one new living there, is there? Oh my god, don’t tell me Bruce adopted again!”

“Um…No,” Timi rallied. “It’s… it’s for everyone, Dick said. Everyone gets a day.”

“Neat!” Tam replied. “So, what’s the deal with your sudden insecurity on the dull/interesting scale?”

“I couldn’t think of anything,” Timi said honestly. “I literally couldn’t think of anything to do. Dick said to pick something fun. It’s weird, right? I should be able to think of something fun to do.”

They took their coffees and headed down the corridors of Wayne Enterprises to the executive suite.

Tam wrinkled her nose as she walked. “I kind of have a… let’s call it a moral objection to the idea that a girl has to be fun. That’s the same school of thought that says women should be likable, or ambitious but only in a pleasant, unthreatening way. Besides,” she thumped down dramatically at the small meeting table which was currently about twelve reams deep in paper. When Timi sat on the other side, Tam could just about see the top of her head. “We’re right in the middle of untangling a massive labour law quandary from a shady company some boardroom yahoo thought it would be a hoot to buy without checking if they more-or-less made their employees indentured servants, and since the sellers took the cash and ran, we got stuck footing the legal consequences and responsibility. Who, I ask you, has time for fun?”

Timi sighed. It was true. They were still wrangling the board to try to make them understand that if they _didn’t_ fork over all back pay due, plus significant bonuses in lieu of years of underpayment, plus get them on the Wayne Enterprises medical insurance and benefits scheme, they’d be paying through the nose in the inevitable court case.

The board — mostly male, wanted war. They didn’t believe Wayne Enterprises was legally liable. Timi and Tam were just trying to make sure three hundred and eighty-four desperately poor and underpaid workers had enough to eat, could sleep in shelter, and could get their needed medications.

“Okay,” Timi sighed. “Let’s run the numbers owing to Mrs… Deanne Corbosa.”

“Ms. Drake-Wayne?” an intern stuck her head into the office. “The employees from Peakcod Limited are here. Mr. Frederick put them in the eastern conference room.”

“What?” Tam rose to her feet. “They’re not supposed to be here until two!”

“They just showed up at the door,” the intern stammered helplessly. “They brought lawyers and everything.”

Timi kicked out of her glittery red tennis shoes and hastily shoved her feet into a pair of heels. Sometime in the last few months her body had squeezed out one final, tiny growth spurt that put her at a towering five feet, half an inch. It wasn’t a huge change, but it did mean her work heels all pinched and chafed.

“Tam, my desk, second from the right, there’s a stack of information packets and forms we need to give them. They’re mostly pre-filled out, could you—?”

“On it! Gotta love those contingencies of yours!” Tam said over her shoulder as she flew out of the door, running with ease in three-inch pumps.

Timi wriggled her cramped toes and took off in the other direction, heading for the boardroom. She paused at the hallway leading up to it. The hubbub coming from the crowd of displaced workers inside was angry. If her company had been sold out from underneath her and all her benefits rendered null and void, Timi would be mad too.

She straightened her spine, rolled her shoulders and walked quickly into the lion’s den to a wave of yells and noise. “Thank you all for coming here today.”

“You act like we had some kind of _choice_ , lady!”

“I had to feed my kids from a food pantry this week and I’m not going to make rent! I need my severance pay TODAY! Not next week or next month. Today!”

“You’re just another one of them damn suits! You’re all just slave owners, buying and selling people!”

Timi held up her hands. “My associate is bringing some forms for you all. When Wayne Enterprises bought Peakcod you all became Wayne Enterprise employees, entitled to all the benefits, salaries and rights therein. We just need to get you signed up…”

“With all due respect,” a woman in a business suit that screamed lawyer. “That’s not good enough. Peakcod owed these people pensions, overtime, backpay. They owed them raises and dividends several times over. When the former owners sold the company — without so much as notifying any of their employees that they had done so — they left them in a bureaucratic black hole with no health insurance, no severance pay, no means of entering the Peakcod facility and no viable employment contract, and therefore no way to make a living. They don’t need more employment contracts, Miss, they need to know that _someone_ is going to pay the money that is legally owed to them!”

“We are working through each employee’s file now,” Timi let the angry, accusing stares slide by. “We are calculating the amounts each person is owed, including ten years of Christmas bonuses, down to the last penny. Once the board signs off on the numbers, you will be paid in full, with new contracts to return to work if you wish.”

One man shot to his feet in a rage. “My name is Ibriham Jhan,” he stated, eyes burning, and lines prematurely etched into his skin from stress. “My son has diabetes. The _only_ way we can afford his insulin is to be on an insurance plan. We are going bankrupt, we are _rationing_ it, we are watching him like hawks. We _cannot wait_ , do you understand? We _cannot_!”

“Mr. Jhan,” Timi answered him, full of conviction. “You worked for less-than-market for Peakcod for fifteen years as their floor manager. I know how much you are owed, and how much you are _worth_. I’m not going to be shy about telling the board _all_ of that. Fill out the forms and we’ll get you on the emergency assist program _today_. It’s not a permanent solution, but it will allow us to get the essentials to all of you while we await the board’s decision. Your lawyer can review everything,” Timi looked him in the eye, seeing the desperate light in it. “I promise you, Mr. Jhan, it’s going to be okay.”


	3. Investigation

_She stared at the funny books and sheets they had given to her._

_“What do you think?”_

_Timi looked up at her father, puzzled. She’d politely said thank you, like she’d been taught, but had no opinion of them otherwise. “I think they’re piano books,” she replied slowly._

_“Of course they’re piano books, Timianna,” her mother had snorted. “It’s time you received cultural education befitting a young woman in your position. They’re for you to practice with. We’re having the Steinway in the ballroom tuned and you will have a tutor come three times a week. I expect you to comport yourself as a talented and dedicated Drake should.”_

_“Yes, mother,” Timi replied dutifully._

_“If you get good enough, they’ll let you play recitals and things,” her father had grinned. “We could come watch you play. It’ll be fun!”_

_Timi accepted this with a smile and a nod._

_Really, it wasn’t too bad. The piano was a fascinating instrument, full of moving parts and little secrets to decipher. The tutor was strict, but he praised Timi’s excellent long fingers and her prodigious memory. That was enough to keep it from being any kind of onerous chore._

_She’d practiced enough by the time they got back from their latest trip that she could give them a solo performance that was mostly coherently music. Her parents hadn’t applauded, but her father had nodded along to the tune, smiling, and her mother’s face had relaxed from its habitual haughty expression. Her mother had played the piano, once. She commented that Timi needed to work on her fingering, but otherwise offered no criticism. Timi knew that meant she’d approved._

_Timi had gone to recitals, performances, and music competitions. Her tutor lamented that she was a very technical player, with none of the passionate artistic underpinnings, but her precision could not be faulted, and her ability to remember songs and recreate them even without sheet music was superb. Timi handled things in the cerebral sense better than the emotional sense, even when she was very young._

_It was that first little private concert which burned warmest in her memory. Her parents were relaxed and happy. It had been fun._

*

“Oracle, I have a question.” Red Robin landed on the rooftop of the old concert hall, which loomed over a curve on the exposed monorail tracks, a tiny little break into air between the Sheldon Tunnel and the Newtown Tunnel. “Non-case related.”

“ _Acknowledged, Red Robin. What’s up_?”

“How did Extravaganza Week start?” Red Robin perched on the parapet of the fantastically rococo building, its splendour lost to the grime and smut of Gotham.

“ _Not the question I would have expected from you, RR,_ ” Oracle’s tease was mild. “ _You usually do your research. It started like all things do, with Agent D. Can you even begin to imagine how in over their head Agent B was when Agent D dropped into their life?_ ”

Red Robin grinned. She could well imagine the eternally stoic Bruce Wayne being completely out of his element with a young, sunshine-laden Dick Grayson. A grieving child was one thing: a _normal_ one, quite another.

“ _That’s where it came from. Agent B wasn’t the type to resist the urge to give Agent D everything under the sun, especially since Agent B had no idea how to be an actual, face-to-face role model. I suspect_ ,” Oracle’s voice was laden with irony, “ _that without the presence of Agent A, Extravaganza Week would have turned into Extravaganza Life_.”

Red Robin giggled. Yes, she suspected that too.

“ _It grew from there. Every new recruit got a Week to themselves, sort of a welcome to the family type of thing. I went to London; took in every murder tour there was._ ”

Red Robin sobered. “I can see Agent B doing that,” she replied quietly. “They care a lot. Thanks for the scoop, O. My patrol’s just about over now; I’ve got to get some sleep tonight or I’m going to look like a racoon in meetings tomorrow.”

“ _Acknowledged. Signing off._ ”

Red Robin pressed a hand to the top of the parapet and waited. The night had been — for a summer in Gotham — quiet enough. Winter was usually the lull season in Gotham crime, with none but a very few rogues and criminals willing to brave the bitter, wet cold, and the scarcity of victims meant street criminals wouldn’t profit by going outdoors. Summer was the season they got to work, so she was pleased for the respite, even though the burr of Extravaganza Week still prickled her consciousness.

She wondered why this all bothered her so much. Not the Week itself, but the niggling fact that she couldn’t think of anything to do with it.

“You’re a bit late to be worried about looking like a racoon, Baby Bird,” a sardonic, mechanised voice had her spinning around, bo extended.

_Damn it, O!_ Red Robin cursed in her head. Then again, the fact that Oracle didn’t deem Red Hood enough of a risk to warn Red Robin when he ninjaed up behind her was a good sign of the stability of his relationship with the Bats these days.

Red Hood brushed the staff aside with insolent ease, which was annoying. She had kicked his ass up and down Gotham in the past.

“What do you want, Hood?” Red Robin asked, refolding the staff. “If it’s about the roving meth lab, I still haven’t tracked down all the blue vans in the city.”

“Shit, don’t worry about those assholes,” Red Hood took his ease, manspreading on the parapet she’d crouched on. “Their van went boom two days ago.”

“Two days?!” Red Robin gaped. “That’s for letting me know, you jackass!”

“I only found out tonight,” Hood shrugged, then added to her sceptical silence. “Hey, I didn’t blow ‘em up, Baby Bird, the idiots did us and the city a favour all on their own. Turns out volatile chemicals and petrol fumes don’t mix. Who knew, right?” he replied.

Red Robin relaxed. At least it was one more thing off her endless to-do list.

“So, how’s your Extravaganza Week list going? Got any ideas yet? Memorising the phone book? Reorganising the case files? Oooh, I know. We could watch paint dry! You’d like that right?”

“Shut up, Hood,” Red Robin huffed at him. “As if paintball is the last word in originality.”

“I’m forever gnawed at by the inescapable need to shoot B in the face,” Red Hood was definitely smirking under the helmet. “I will never not give into that need. Hell, this time the bastard invited it. So, what’s the grand plan, Tiny Red?”

“Maybe I’ll just come here,” Red Robin shrugged. “They put on free concerts in this hall sometimes. The acoustics are astonishing; there’s support beams from the monorail laid under the building. If they play loud enough, you can hear it resonate all the way along the line.”

“That’s it?” Red Hood asked incredulously. “That’s the grand plan. You do realise you’re weird, right?”

“On what scale?” Red Robin retorted dryly. “Keeping in mind I am talking to a literal undead assassin.”

“Even taking into account the stupidly complicated Scale of Gotham Weird, you are in a class of your own, Baby Bird,” Red Hood shook his head. “A free concert? You don’t think you might wanna, you know, swing for the fucking fences? Don’t you know how to have fun?”

Red Robin felt a bit nettled by this. She felt an abiding affection for the old building. It had taken her nearly a year to crack the statistical anomaly that showed crime in this area went down an average of fifteen percent whenever the elderly caretaker put on a concert. Music, as it turns out, does soothe the savage Gotham beast. She counted the solving of that mystery among her proudest achievements, because not even Batman had figured it out.

But, like most of her carefully curated happiest treasures, she had a hard time articulating why they were what they were to anyone else.

She crouched on the parapet instead, back facing outwards, turning her head to look at Red Hood. “No, not really. Hold this for me, would you?” she thrust her grapple gun at him, handle first.

He just had enough time to take it before she launched herself off the parapet and out into freefall towards the electric monorail tracks. She felt rather than saw him spin around and swear in surprise, but she was already reaching for one of the curved support poles that curled over the line between the two tunnels, looking like an exposed ribcage. She grabbed it, used it to change the angle of her momentum, then expertly landed on her back on the roof of the monorail train itself in the brief, hairsbreadth-to-death window while the express moved out of one tunnel and into another.

From that height and without the grapple gun, it was a bruising landing. However, a vile stream of invective spewed from her comm, which made her giggle.

“ _Fuck you, you fucking asshole! I’m_ keeping _the fucking gun, you little shit!_ ”

She grinned. Totally worth it.


	4. Deflection

_“Timianna! What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?!”_

_“… Playing Robin?”_

_“Are those my NYLONS? My eight hundred-dollar Burberry SHAWL?! Do you think this is any way for a well turned out young woman to act? For a Drake heir to act?!”_

_“I was just playing. I was very careful!” Her mother’s hand across her face stopped Timi’s defence dead in its tracks._

_“Careful? You cut holes in my stocking like some street rat from the slums! Come here!”_

_Her mother dragged her by her arm painfully to the library._

_“Every day — every single day — you are to come here after breakfast and read through ALL of the etiquette and comportment books. All of them, Timianna! I shall expect comparative reports and no less than five essays by the end of the summer.”_

_Timianna looked at the shelf miserably, but said, “Yes, Mother.”_

_“Playing Robin, honestly!” Janet Drake stalked away. “It’s about time you started to grow up, Timianna! Our world doesn’t look kindly on children who don’t behave and who waste their time on infantile daydreams!”_

_Timianna sighed and pulled off the shawl. In her furore, her mother had forgotten it. It’s not like she didn’t have others._

_In the future, she’d stick to playing Robin when her parents weren’t around._

_In the meantime, she submitted the requested reports and essays. She found them later, in the trash, the day after her parents had left on another trip. They hadn’t been read._

*

“So.”

“So?”

“Soooo,” Stephanie leaned forward, which made Timi lean back. A Steph with that gleam in her eyes was a dangerous Steph.

Timi waited her out. One thing you could always say about Stephanie Brown; she’d never found a use for patience.

“What’s on for your entry into Extravaganza Week?”

“Oh,” Timi made a face. “That. I don’t have one yet. Why?”

“It’s in two days, T!” Stephanie nudged her with a friendly elbow. “Cutting it fine, aren’t you? Cass is flying in tom- today, actually, and then we get started.”

Timi sighed. Patrol was finished, she’d had a nice, long, cool shower to pound some of the tension out, and she was sitting in the Cave with the others, winding down before she tried to squeeze in a few hours’ sleep before going to work. “Work’s been insane, Steph. I haven’t really had time to think about it.”

“Well, you’d better get on that. Big Blue had to book his a month in advance, because he’s an idiot with the mental age of twelve.”

“Hey!” Dick’s protest yell from the other end of the cave where he was doing cool down stretches with Damian was summarily ignored.

“There must be _something_ you feel like doing that’s fun,” Stephanie pressed.

“We could go take pictures of cats,” Timi suggested. “I do that sometimes on quiet nights.” Tracking feral cat populations was an excellent means of data mapping where a rogue or gang might be hiding out. Rats stayed anywhere there was food and dogs had a weird loyalty to their territories come what may, but cats were intelligent enough to clear out at the first sign of trouble.

Stephanie was staring at her like Timianna was the most tragic thing she had ever seen. Even Bruce appeared slightly baffled by this from where he sat, shamelessly eavesdropping, at the Bat Computer.

“What?” Timi asked defensively. “They play tag. It’s fun! Besides, I always enjoyed photography and it’s not like I can track the local bat population anymore.”

“Running around after mangy flea ridden strays through dark alleys on a summer night,” Dick sighed as he came over. “Sounds like a blast. Honestly, T, are you allergic to fun or something?” he smiled to take the sting out.

Damian felt no such compunction. “Your underdeveloped imagination is a blight upon this family, Drake,” he spat, furious. “Not only are you ill-equipped to please anyone, including _yourself_ , with your commonplace notions of delight, you have the nerve to ape _my_ planned outing as well!”

Timi blinked. “Hey, hang on, I’ve got no idea what your thing even _is_. How could I possibly steal it?”

“Spare me your quaint mewling! You know very well about my charity work with animals! You seek to usurp my idea and pass it off as your own!”

“Damian, I don’t want _anything_ of yours, trust me,” Timi held up her hands tiredly. “I honestly don’t know what the plan is.”

“You didn’t look at the schedule?” Dick blinked. “I sent it out days ago.”

Timi thought guiltily of her personal email, sitting untouched for the last week in the face of meeting, meetings, vigilante work and more meetings. “Yeah, I was planning on going through it tomorrow when I had a minute.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m _busy_ , Dick. As it stands, I’m scheduling my sleep in hour blocks. I’ll get to it. You put me last, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s too late to book anything really fancy or big…”

“That’s fine,” Timi shrugged. “I promise whatever I choose won’t be big or complicated.”

“But it’s Extravaganza Week!” Stephanie protested. “It’s the week to go big!”

“I thought it was for fun,” Timi responded dryly. “Where is it written that fun has to be big or complicated or expensive?”

“Nowhere,” Bruce interjected from the Bat Computer. “I’d like to point out that _nowhere_ does it say fun has to be big, complicated or expensive.”

He was summarily pelted with old domino masks and gym socks by Dick and Stephanie, who jeered at him for being a cheapskate while Damian facepalmed and Timi laughed.

“You’re taking time off for the Week, right?” Dick turned back to her. “Everyone has to be there. It’s family time.”

“If Tam has a copy, she’s probably pulled some scheduling miracles out of the firmament. Don’t worry,” she reassured him, seeing his dubious look. “It’ll be a run around, but I’ll make it.”

“You need more sleep,” Stephanie told her frankly.

Timi opened her mouth to reply, but Damian beat her to it.

“Brown is correct, Drake is looking more haggard and uglier than usual,” he sneered at her. “Perhaps she should not patrol so often. After all, her mediocre talents are far better suited to handling office matters than the rigours of crime fighting.”

Timi’s eyes narrowed; the little gremlin’s attack hit a nerve with deadly accuracy. “There’s two people your grandfather calls ‘detective’, demon brat, and _neither_ one of them is _you_.”

“Why you—” Damian spluttered, baring his teeth in a rage.

Dick wisely grabbed him and wrestled the writhing little monster up towards the stairs to the Manor while said monster growled and spat insults at her as they went. “Bedtime! Say goodnight, Little D!”

“Insolent whey-faced little—”

They disappeared up the stairs.

“Holy cow,” Stephanie was laughing. “You guys are more fun than SNL, seriously!”

“Timi,” Bruce said flatly from the screen, looking at her in disapproval.

“I know,” Timi said wearily. “He’s just a kid. I’ll… I’ll try not to let him provoke me next time, okay? I’m just tired. See you in the morning.”

Not really in the mood for a lecture, Timi went up the stairs too, searching for the solace of her bedroom.

She didn’t get to the clock fast enough to miss Stephanie’s words echoing up from the Cave.

“You know, B, last time I checked she hadn’t reached her majority either. How about you cut _her_ some slack on that, for a change?”

Timi was through the door and past hearing before Bruce replied.


	5. Hesitation

_Mrs. Mac was away for the summer on long service leave, so Timi was left in the care of a sitter. Her name was Liesel and Timi didn’t think the teen liked her very much. Despite promising her parents that ‘they’d have tonnes of fun’, Liesel mostly left her alone and did her own thing in the few hours a day she was there._

_That was fine. Timi had her own things to do as well._

_It all changed one Saturday early in the summer. Liesel came toting an old skateboard and told her they were going somewhere fun. Timi was a little bit dubious about this, considering, but went willingly enough. They took a bus down to Amusement Mile. It was a pretty careworn area, but the side nearer to the dock was well lit and still in use, probably because of the security levied on all the super wealthy people’s yachts stored in the basin._

_They didn’t spend much on anything here anymore, much less amusements, but some bright spark had put in a skatepark on the basis that laying down a bunch of concrete was a cheap, low maintenance addition to the area. A lot of the old debris had been cleared, so it was quite big. It had all the half pipes, stairs, rails, funboxes, ramps, bowls and every other sliding surface that a skater enthusiast could ask for._

_It was of course covered with graffiti and had various shady deals going on in various corners away from the harsh lighting, but that was just Gotham. The skaters ignored them and they ignored the skaters._

_It was perfectly obvious why Liesel had brought her when the usually coolly cynical teen turned into a flustered mess trying to talk to one of the skaters there. Tony seemed nice enough; he was painfully oblivious to Liesel’s overtures but kind to Timi. Apparently he had younger siblings that he brought here a lot. It was a refreshing revelation to meet someone who knew better than to talk down to her._

_Liesel didn’t agree. She meanly pushed Timi deeper into the park with a snarled ‘Go skate or something!’ when she took up too much of Tony’s attention._

_She came to rue that choice when Timi ended up concussed at the bottom of a half pipe with road rash and a broken arm from when one of the boys who’d pushed her had accidentally rolled over her when following her down._

_They rode back from the hospital in strained silence. Liesel had not taken well to being read the riot act by her would-be crush, and several watching mothers, for sending her charge out into the park with no padding or helmet. Timi was just biting back tears. Drakes didn’t cry._

_“How much?” Liesel bit out eventually._

_Timi gave her a blank stare._

_“Come on,” Liesel snapped. “You’re a smart kid. How much do you want to keep you from blabbing to your parents? Make it quick, or I’ll tell them you stole it and went yourself!” Liesel glared at the road, but her nervously twitching fingers gave her away._

_“Pads,” Timi said eventually._

_“Pads?” Whatever Liesel had expected, it clearly wasn’t that._

_“Pads,” Timi repeated. “And a helmet.”_

_Liesel made a sour face. “You’re weird.”_

_Timi accepted this. She also accepted the pads and helmet when Liesel brought them next time._

_They went to the skate park every day that summer. Timi was a rank amateur, but she did ballet and gymnastics and had an uncanny talent for observation. Tony was still nice, he showed her the ropes even though her arm was still in a cast. By the end of the summer, she was as good as anyone who had ever gone to that park._

_It felt like flying._

_On the last week of summer, when Liesel stopped showing up entirely in favour of her new boyfriend, Timi managed to climb to the top of a building without even flinching. She’d trained herself past fear._

_She even managed to get her first picture of Robin._

_She smiled._

*

Walking into the Wayne Enterprises building in the morning, Timi sipped her coffee, scrolled through her schedule on her phone and, at the last second, managed to keep from breaking Mr. Jhan’s wrist when he shoved his phone right up in her face.

“Mr. Jhan!” Timi covered her instinctive dodge and grab by turning it into a clumsy looking hop. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Look,” Mr. Jhan shook the phone at her accusingly. “Look at it. That is my son, Khazir.”

Timi obligingly took the phone and took in the huge, gap toothed, unstoppable smile of Khazir Abu Jhan. He was a cute kid, round cheeked and shockingly light eyed. He’d be a looker someday. “I see him, Mr. Jhan,” Timi said as she swiped to reveal another photo. It looked like a family shot; a very tall, dark haired lady with her arm around two older girls and Khazir. “You have a beautiful family.” Timi handed back the phone. “Your medications were delivered; I checked the tracking myself.”

“Yes,” Mr. Jhan nodded. He didn’t seem angry or belligerent. He had an air of patient sadness. “We have enough insulin for this week and next week. But what about the week after? Or the week after that?”

“I’m going to be in meetings all day about it, Mr. Jhan,” Timi assured him. “We’ve worked out how much everyone is owed. We just have to get it ratified by the board and then we will release the funds. It shouldn’t be more than a week; much less, if I have my way. I promise, you’ll have your insurance back long before you run out.”

“You will forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Mr. Jhan spoke heavily. “The other men lied with smiles on their faces.”

“They’re not me,” Timi countered. “I have no reason to keep your money or benefits from you or your co-workers and I’m not going to.”

“I shall wait,” Mr. Jhan settled back on one of the pedestrian benches and crossed his arms. “And see.”

Timi nodded to him and left it at that.

By the time she hit the elevator, Tam was already spamming her with scheduling conflicts. It was going to be a long day. She clicked briskly into the executive suite, firing off emails as she went and digging into her bag for gel inserts since her feet already hurt. She paused briefly at the door to her office, huffed, then kicked it so hard that it flew into the wall behind it.

Almost. There was a muffled thump and a pained grunt.

“Dick,” Timi sighed. “Is there a reason you’re here, or do you want to just hold my coat like the world’s most annoying hook?”

“Ooooow,” Dick groaned. As she came around the door, he gave her a rueful grin from where he clung, upside down, to her door by the very tips of his fingers. “That was mean, Timi!”

“I’d like to point out that I have fought actual ninjas,” Timi huffed as she dumped her bags on her desk. “They don’t exactly respond to polite overtures and I don’t respond well to stealth attacks.”

“You expect an attack in your office?”

She let him sit with that while she removed her coat. Even the brief walk from the car service to the elevator had brought up a sweat.

“Yeah, okay,” Dick conceded. “Gotham. That’s fair.”

“What are you doing up so early, anyway?” Timi asked curiously. Officer Grayson was nothing if not punctual, but you’d be lucky to see Dick Grayson while on leave before noon.

“I’m picking up Cass from the airport,” Dick flopped down on one of her desk chairs. “I decided I’d swing by in the meantime. I thought you’d be glad,” he affected a mournful face.

Timi raised an eyebrow. “Did you bring coffee?”

“It’s too hot for coffee, babydoll!”

“You are dead to me,” Timi sniffed while Dick laughed.

“Seriously though, I _did_ want to talk to you,” Dick said after he’d calmed down.

“I haven’t picked anything yet, Dick, quit nagging,” Timi replied tiredly.

“No, not that,” Dick said quickly. “But… uh, it’s that-adjacent. Um… are you okay?”

Timi blinked at him. “Yes. Why do you think I’m not?”

“Because you haven’t exactly been a font of enthusiasm about Extravaganza Week,” Dick pointed out. “And I thought maybe it was because you didn’t feel like spending a lot of time with the family. It’s okay if you _don’t_ , but I’d still like to know if that’s, you know, why you’re having problems with it.”

Timi stared at him. She hated moments like this, that reminded her of the yawning gulf between them these days. They were bridging the gap, they nearly felt normal most days, but then they’d hit a moment like this —a painful highlight that her relationship with the family was still on shaky ground. She was trying, they were trying; she’d even moved back into the Manor, so she’d have the luxury of proximity as she worked at it, but it was hard. A lot of trust had to be rebuilt.

“It’s not that!” Timi protested, because it really wasn’t. “I want to hang out with you and the rest of them! I’m looking forward to Extravaganza Week, I really am. I’m just tired, Dick. B’s ‘retired’, you’re on leave, Jason’s gainfully unemployed and the rest of them are on summer break. I’m working two jobs and trying to squeeze in research and sleep. Enthusiasm takes more energy than I’ve got right now.”

“Oh,” Dick gave a painfully relieved smile. “I’m glad. You should take some days _off_ , Timi. You’re the CEO, it’s not like there’s any higher boss that can say no.”

Timi peered out of her office window, pensive. Somewhere far below, looking like a dot of an ant, Mr. Jhan sat with morose and unflappable patience out in the heat. “I can’t right now, Dick. Between Bruce being gone and what Ra’s did, there’s a lot of stuff that still needs fixing. If I take leave now, it looks bad, the stocks fall, and everything gets that little bit harder to fix.”

“Come on, T, nobody’s going to notice if you take a week in the middle of summer,” Dick wheedled. “Even executives get vacation time.”

“They will notice,” Timi insisted. “They will if it’s me. Look, I’m not having this argument with you, Dick. I can’t take time off, but I will find the time to be there for most of it. That’s the best I can do. Those upgrades for your armour aren’t magicked from nowhere. They cost money, and somebody in the family has to take care of that.”

The edge in her voice must have penetrated, because Dick dropped it there. “Okay, fair enough. I should get going so Cass doesn’t end up waiting around at the airport. See you at dinner?”

Timi shook her head. “Patrol. I’m going to have long hours to make space for Extravaganza Week.”

Dick sighed but chose not to comment.

He looked so sorry for her that Timi softened a little bit. “Give Cass a hug for me, okay?”

Dick brightened. “I can do that. Do you want one from her right now? Special Delivery By Proxy.” He opened his arms and wriggled his fingers, looking so ridiculous that it startled a laugh out of her even as she stepped up.

Things would have to be a lot worse than they were between them before she’d stop accepting a patented Dick Grayson Hug.


	6. Activation

_The Drakes didn’t own a television. The Young Rich set were by turns aghast and impressed when they heard it, torn between the horror of an abyss of entertainment, and respect for the Drake’s go-getter, get-out-there-and-do philosophy. The Drakes themselves viewed the whole thing with the conceit of amusement._

_The truth was boringly practical. When were they even in-country long enough to need a television?_

_Besides, that was just the party line. Jack Drake kept a small set in his study; an illicit, low brow secret known only to them and to various maids. Timi made good use of it. Better, she thought, than her father, who only ever watched documentaries about dusty old tombs and ancient history. Timi had no real use for colourful shows with puppets and brightly voiced hosts who perpetually smiled. She watched the news, searching endlessly for any sign of Robin or Batman, even though the pictures they sporadically showed were grainy and terrible and didn’t give her any information at all._

_It was driving her so mad she was saving for a camera so she could at least get some proper pictures._

_She never watched it while her parents were there; her father’s study was strictly forbidden to her. But one night, halfway to the kitchens for water, Timi heard noises she’d never heard from the study before._

_It sounded like screaming._

_Puzzled rather than frightened, Timi went towards the study and the silvery, strobing light leaking around the edges of the door. She cautiously inched the door further open, hearing more screams to the background of a thundering brass and drum score. She opened it still further to witness her father, an energetic and scholarly man, leaning back in his desk chair with a beer, watching an old black and white movie. It looked nothing like the documentaries he usually watched._

_She got her observational skills from him. He noticed her reflection in the screen._

_“Timianna!” he jumped, nearly spilling his beer. “Christ, you could’ve killed me, kiddo.”_

_“I’m sorry, Father.”_

_“That’s alright. What are you doing up?”_

_“I was getting a drink, but then I heard screams,” Timi explained._

_Jack Drake’s face twisted into a rueful, amused smile. “What, you thought your poor old dad was being attacked and decided to come to the rescue, eh? Good for you, kiddo. It’s nice to know you’re watching out for me.”_

_Cautiously encouraged by her father’s lack of anger or dismay at her breach of the study, Timi essayed, “Is that a documentary?”_

_“What? God no,” Jack laughed at her. “That’s_ Godzilla _. Haven’t you ever seen_ Godzilla _before?”_

_Timi wordlessly shook her head._

_They stared at each other before Jack rolled his eyes. “Well, come on. In you get._ Don’t _,” he admonished her. “Tell your mother about this. She thinks I have lousy taste in movies.”_

_Timi nodded frantically, eager to try something new and untested._

_Because it was Jack Drake, the movie was ever after peppered with mini lectures about Hiroshima and overviews of World War II and the Manhattan Project. He talked with immense passion and depth about historical and cultural responses to shared trauma._

_Six-year-old Timi drank it in, sitting on the ground, nestled up against her father’s knee, asking question after question._

_Father and daughter sat in harmony, bonding over men in rubber monster suits._

*

_It’s not the heat_ , Red Robin parroted irritably in her head. _It’s the humidity_.

Even though night had fallen, summer heat still pressed down like an unwelcome blanket in Gotham. During the day the ever-present damp could make it feel as if the very air was boiling. During the night it helped the heat stick to the walls and buildings, a foul casserole of sweat, stink and breathless discomfort.

Gotham background noise had distinct seasonal flavours; in summer, the traffic could almost be drowned out by the sound of air conditioners everyone had either bought or were desperately scraping together pennies for. It didn’t help that the vigilantes’ most common haunt was the rooftops, where all the heat got vented out.

Red Robin swiped at her damp mouth and chin, trying to ignore the increasingly irksome moistness under her cowl and down the back of her neck where her hair was safely tucked under it, all the way to the small of her back. The absorbent layer had given up the ghost a while ago. She knew Batman thought her long hair was impractical, but dammit, she’d spent years clipped short as a sheep trying to fit the Robin mould. She was her own self now. She was keeping the damn hair.

Her planned surveillance of the possible drug lab hidden in the defunct train yard had gone nowhere. Her intel had been good, but whomever their hired cook was, they seemed to be the cautious sort. Temperatures like this weren’t kind to the variety of unstable chemicals used to make Pound, the super strength on command pill.

That wasn’t a good sign. If the cook was careful and willing to forgo a payday to delay manufacture, that meant they’d been in this business for a while. Pound was a tricky little substance with heavy metal compounds included. An amateur would be likely to blow themselves up. They’d need someone with a degree and actual, legitimate experience. She’d have to go back over her records. There couldn’t be that many chemists in Gotham with the requisite skills.

No one wanted Pound on the streets. Eager young men took it to play Superman for a night and were usually playing brain-damaged coma victims by morning.

“ _Red Robin, do you copy_?” Oracle’s voice came through the coms.

“Copy Oracle,” Red Robin sidled as far as she could from the air conditioning vents of the roof she was on.

“ _Status?_ ”

“Freelancing and odd jobbing for now,” Red Robin grunted. “Yard stakeout was a bust. You got something?”

“ _The Moonlight Theatre at the Botanical Gardens just let out. We’ve had reports several nights in a row about patrons — particularly female — being harassed by groups of young men._ ”

“Affiliation?”

“ _Unknown, but they’re unlikely to be members of the hardcore gangs. Seems like a bunch of frat boys, mostly. Could be Hell Camp at the University; the fraternities there have been known to stir up trouble._ ”

“Damn wildings,” Red Robin hissed. She’d much rather deal with gangs than a pack of pasty, entitled morons with too much time on their hands. At least gang members didn’t whine when you punched them. “Understood. On my way to provide cover. Call in any incidents, Newtown has a lot of ground to cover.”

“ _Understood._ ”

Red Robin went rooftop to rooftop, letting the stretch and burn of pumping muscles take over. The sweat on her exposed skin cooled and the activity made the night almost bearable, even if it felt like she was breathing in hot water.

She reached the edge of the Gardens quickly enough. The Moonlight Theatre was popular; there were still quite a few patrons milling around the entrance and streets. She doubted the would-be anarchists would try something here; too many witnesses with too many camera phones. She spotted two undercover police cars discreetly parked nearby, so the GCPD had clearly recognised the problem, too.

Red Robin pulled up her mental map of the area and calculated the likely hot spots. There were several small alleyways and winding routes to the train station, but she speculated the most likely spot for trouble would be the Mary Istley Reserve; a small park on a direct line between the Gardens and the biggest parking garage nearest the Gardens. People would likely cut through it to get to their cars, and the Reserve would be low surveillance and not as well-lit as the streets.

Decided, she headed down the pedestrian walkway from the Gardens, past the smattering of coffee shops and restaurants for tourists and found a sheltered spot to watch from one of the thick walls of the enclosed Reserve.

It was possible there wouldn’t be any trouble. It was summer, and there were plenty of people wandering around, taking what little respite the night gave them from the heat. Ice cream and slushie vendors were out in force and doing brisk business. Kids were playing in the fountain; teenagers were passing around a cold beer bottle. While Red Robin was sure there were small, shady deals happening at the edges, it was all amicable enough. It was too hot to start trouble.

Still, the presence of those police cars meant that whoever was starting trouble would likely seek a new hunting ground. The Reserve was a low-risk, high-gain scenario for a bunch of frat boys whom, Red Robin was sure, weren’t exactly god’s gift to strategy. 

Time proved her right. Not fifteen minutes after her initial reconnaissance, she noted an increase in the presence of young males in the park. They were trying to be nonchalant and entered the reserve separately and scattered, but their furtive body language was writ large. Plus, they all seemed to be carrying bandanas or face masks of some kinds — an odd choice for a hot night.

“Oracle, be advised we have possible assailants in the vicinity of Mary Istley,” Red Robin reported. “Head count is fourteen so far; there could be more.”

“ _Need assist?_ ”

Fourteen frat boys were hardly the worst challenge she’d faced. She watched as they squared up potential victims for the night’s revelries, noting and filing physical descriptions and likely training and strength levels.

“No,” Red Robin said eventually. “But this does have the potential to go sideways.”

“ _Understood. I’ll keep a lookout. Your nearest allies are two minutes from your location_.”

“Understood,” Red Robin’s eyes narrowed as they all started to put on their face masks. “Looks like the party is about to start.”

She had to admit, they weren’t completely useless at strategy. Their main plan seemed to entail starting at one end of the park and having one guy blitz their first victim with a coward punch while another lifted valuables and snatched the purse of the punched victim’s companion.

Even before she could start screaming, those two were away and running and another pair had swooped down and taken on someone else. They seemed to be stealing what they could grab and running, but sometimes they’d just kick someone as they went past or push someone over, yelling “Welcome to Gotham!” and “Fuck the Fascist World Order!” as they went. When people ran, they chased them, mostly just to scare the hell out of them as the attackers screamed at them or laughed. One of the idiots was filming it.

Red Robin went into the melee. She had a handful of cherry bomb flash bangs out of her bandoleers in an instant and unfolded her bo staff with her free hand.

_Crack! Crack! Crack!_

She put one guy down with the staff and his comrade lost teeth to a vicious elbow as she pivoted in a different direction like a snake. They went down and stayed down, one clutching his mouth and moaning.

The flash bangs were tossed at another pair running ahead; the crackle of bright lights made them freeze, which gave her the leverage to slide between them, pop up, and clothesline them with the staff. She had them zip tied together while their heads were still ringing, before setting off towards the others, who had come together in a pack to surround a pair of terrified women who were clinging to each other while the gang jeered and pawed at them like monkeys.

Red Robin flipped over the line of them like the acrobat she’d been trained by, landing in the middle of the jeering circle. “Excuse me,” she asked the astonished women, smiling pleasantly. “Would you mind just ducking down for a second?”

No fools, the women both dropped.

Red Robin spun like a dervish. It was always handy to have enemies at every angle. You couldn’t possibly avoid hitting them. Staff alternated with fist alternated with foot; no matter where she moved, she connected with something and, because it was her, connected with extreme precision. She knocked out two of the pack outright; the rest fell back, bruised, winded and bloody nosed.

“Holy shit, who the hell is this?”

“What the fuck, man, I thought you said we’d get the Batman!” the big guy waved a derisive hand in her direction, but he was yelling at the cameraman, who was staying well back. “That’s not the fucking Bat! That’s his little bitch sidekick! The dwarf!”

Red Robin’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey, I don’t control where the Bat goes!” the cameraman protested. “It’s _a_ Bat. Don’t that count?”

“Fuck! Fighting that weakling is going to be a fucking embarrassment!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Red Robin told him archly. “I didn’t realise picking on someone smaller than you could possibly be an embarrassment. After all, that, as far as I can tell, is all you’ve ever done. Really,” Red Robin spun her staff. “I was under the impression that my type is the only opponent you’d have the balls to fight. I can back that up with evidence, if you like.”

“Fuck you!” Angry Guy lunged at her.

Three seconds later he was on the ground, curled up in a little world of personal agony, clutching his groin with both hands. Red Robin was idly twirling her staff like a baton, apparently bored. “See, that right there is why you pick on untrained bystanders and women. You talk the talk, but you can’t even pretend to walk the walk of an actual fight. In a city full of interesting villains I’d call you as common as muck, except that would be a glorious insult to muck.”

One of the women still huddled on the ground choked out a half hysterical laugh. Red Robin tilted her chin at them, and they quickly took the opportunity to flee. The rest of the pack had lost quite a lot of their taste for mayhem after seeing what she’d done to them in two minutes flat.

“Fuck you,” the leader groaned from his foetal position. “Fuck you, you little cunt! You fucking little flat assed freak! Pound it!”

“But…”

“Fucking Pound it, you morons!” the leader shrieked. “Pound it then have some fun pounding her!”

Hells ringing bells, they were all taking some very familiar looking pills.

“Oracle,” Red Robin commed in as the frat boys all started breathing hard and sweating and twitching at the drug hit their bloodstreams. “Sideways!”

Then she flipped out of the way as one of the doughier frat boys ripped up a bench bolted to the cement and flung it at her. It shattered into shards on impact.

Red Robin cracked open her entire contingent of smoke bombs and carpeted the area in a thick layer of white gas even as the pack members all lunged at her, whites of their eyes gleaming and faces twisted in madness.

Pound made you strong, but it also made you stupid. You could punch through a brick wall, but you didn’t become a good fighter. Your bones broke just as easily, even if you didn’t feel it. And the effects were very temporary and very short lived.

Then again, someone had just ripped up a streetlight like a carrot and was swinging it wildly into the fog, so it wasn’t like she didn’t have a tonne of disadvantages as well. She ducked and dodged with grace and care — she had to, because even a glancing blow from one of these idiots would put her into the pavement hard enough to crack it. The fact that they would shatter their hands doing it was no comfort at all.

She used the smokescreen and her staff; these guys weren’t ninjas by any stretch. All she had to do was sit very still, wait for them to stumble into range and then _crack_ , down they went. She had tranquiliser darts for greater range but was reluctant to use them. They had no idea what substances would be contraindicative with Pound.

She was fast and wise, but the last few were the most cunning. Taking out one who leapt at her wildly gave another one a chance to grab her head from behind and yank. She went with it because the only alternative was a broken neck. Because the cowl was what he gripped and his pull motion was extremely sharp, the cowl gave way; pulled free of the rest of the armour, all the circuitry and cameras ripped to shreds and destroyed.

She scowled at his open-mouthed face from under her backup domino as he held up an empty cowl. That was going to be a bitch to fix.

“Grab the little bitch!” howled a voice to her right. It sounded congested — the leader had risen.

Then he made an odd, confused, high pitched little noise, before falling like a tree right at her feet even as another figure grabbed the one in front of her and hauled him back into the fog, followed by the sounds of punching.

From out of the gloom a shadow congealed, wearing a familiar golden bat.

Red Robin beamed. “Black Bat!” she went in for an enormous hug, disregarding the stares she got for it.

“Yes,” Black Bat gave a tiny smile and tightened her grip.

Then, in perfect synchronisation, they both reared back and send a straight arm punch over each other’s shoulders, hitting a jaw each with a meaty thud. The doped up young men folded like empty suits.

“Good to see you!” Red Robin added, still beaming.

Black Bat smiled, conveying a _you too_ without words.

They both let go and turned at the sound of the cameraman running away, only to be clotheslined violently by a figure whose blonde hair gleamed in the streetlights as the fog dispersed. “Jackass,” Batgirl spat, kicking him a little. “Hey there, Red. Heard you might need an assist.”

“I was absolutely and totally fine, thank you,” Red Robin told her primly. “I mean, one of them swung a streetlight at me and one of them nearly ripped my head clean off, but I definitely had it under control.”

“Yeah,” Batgirl picked up and shook her sad, ripped cowl at her. “We can totally see that.”

Black Bat nodded.

“ _Red Robin, report,_ ” Batman’s voice barked over the comms.

“Threat neutralised,” Red Robin affirmed. “All assailants disarmed and unconscious.” She sighted to the park gates, which were now filled with flashing lights. “GCPD now on site. No injuries.”

“ _Understood,_ ” Batman said flatly. “ _Ready a debriefing for your observations on the drug; we need to understand the aftereffects._ ”

Red Robin would have affirmed, but Batgirl broke in stridently. “B, it’s literally a thousand degrees out here. We’ll zip tie these morons and deliver them into police custody,” she bent to do just that, the other two doing the same. “But we’re not going to wait around until they’re conscious enough for interrogation. The cops can do that from a nice, comfy, air-conditioned hospital room while we behave like sensible people and go and get slushies. Okay? Great, glad you agree. Girl’s night!” she yelled to the sky even as she ruthlessly cut him off.

Red Robin cheered and Black Bat waved her hands. Nobody could claim that Batgirl lacked courage.

They tidied up and gave their reports to the police, then got two slushies apiece and leapt for a handy rooftop in search of a breeze, any breeze at all.

“Oh my god,” Red Robin pulled her hair out from beneath her armour. It was drenched with sweat. “Why even commit crimes in summer? Who has the energy?” She gulped down the raspberry slushie like it would be her last.

“Seriously Red,” Batgirl poked her sweaty temple. “You have got to ditch the cowl. In summer at the very least!”

“B thinks the hair is a safety risk,” Red Robin shrugged. “I like it long, so that’s the compromise.”

Black Bat patted her hair. “Long is nice.”

“You don’t wear yours long,” Batgirl pointed out, sucking on her grape slushie.

“Too much… trouble,” Black Bat wrinkled her nose. She made a surprisingly eloquent gesture which explained her indifference to matters of feminine vanity.

“BB’s hair looks fine,” Red Robin defended. “She’s got the right face and body; a short cut looks really cute and stylish. It makes _me_ look like a boy.” It was true. Nature had been sparing where her curves were concerned. She had them, but she’d never be Cass’s compact, muscular voluptuous or Steph’s willowy Amazonian body type. She was small; a lithe, spindly gymnast.

“You don’t look like a boy,” Batgirl huffed while Black Bat shook her head. “You’re _adorable_ ; a big eyed, sweetness and rainbows girl who turns into a pint size powerhouse on command. You’re like a magical anime girl.”

Black Bat and Batgirl both laughed uproariously at the disgusted look on Red Robin’s face.

“Shut up,” Red Robin flushed. “I can buy and sell both of you.” She started in on her cola slushie, which was as close as she could get to a coffee slushie. It was so hot that it had already half melted. She absently reached down and rubbed an ankle while she did so.

Black Bat looked at her, eyes sharp. “Feet,” she nodded. “Hurt.”

“Not from the fight,” Red Robin waved a hand. “My work heels are too small. I haven’t had time to replace them yet. They _chafe_. B asked me why I don’t just wear my red tennies to work and Geez Louise, what could I say to that? Like, _yes_ B, _you_ can get away with wearing khakis and Hawaiian shirts and sandals to a board meeting, but that’s because you’re a six foot two, two-hundred-pound white guy. The board members are conditioned to automatically respect six foot two, two hundred-pound white guys, even if they’re idiots.”

“Right, and they’re conditioned to essentially ignore anything female,” Batgirl snorted into her slushie. “God, I hate that. That bewildered look you get when you point out that _yes_ , the road is, in fact, paved with gold and rose petals for men, even if it doesn’t feel like it to them.”

“New shoes,” Black Bat said practically over her pineapple slushie. “On Batgirl’s day.”

“Huh?” Red Robin blinked.

“My Extravaganza Day,” Batgirl explained. “Haven’t you read the schedule?”

“Nope,” Red Robin said cheerfully. “I’m going to check what we’re doing on the day because I very rarely get to experience a pleasant surprise. So, what, are we going shopping?”

“Of a sort,” Batgirl’s teeth gleamed dangerously. “I never said what kind of shopping. The boys all think they’re getting a respite that day and I don’t have the heart to correct them. Wear your tennis shoes that day; trust me, you’ll love it.”

Ominous. Red Robin suspected she’d get a good laugh out of whatever mayhem Stephanie planned. She usually did.

“I notice you haven’t added anything to the schedule yet,” Batgirl added with exactly zero subtlety.

“I know, I know,” Red Robin sighed. “I was thinking about going up to the national park. We could stargaze.”

“That’s _it_? Stargazing?” Batgirl spluttered. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you do realise you’re, like, the Anti-Fun, right?”

“Come on, BG,” Red Robin rolled her eyes while Black Bat watched her silently. “When was the last time that you — or any of us — actually just looked at the stars? Not looking for another invasion or mapping our way out of unknown territory but just, you know, stopping and enjoying them? We rarely get the chance to even take a breath in this job; what’s wrong with having a bit of… peace?”

Black Bat nodded thoughtfully.

Batgirl sighed. “Okay, I can see the point you’re trying to make, but honestly RR, life’s too short. Life really is too short. This time tomorrow or any day thereafter this whole stinking burg could be a smoking crater no matter what we do. My philosophy is to cram as much as possible in as fast as possible. To have as much fun and as many laughs as can possibly be wrung out of life because, let’s face it, we’ve all cried more than enough.”

The others both nodded to this. It was a fact; they couldn’t dispute it.

“I don’t want peace,” Batgirl looked over the lurid lights of Gotham, seemingly contemplative. “I honestly don’t think any of us were made for peace.”

“Always a fight,” Black Bat sighed. “Somewhere. Somehow.”

Red Robin was forced to concede there, too.

“Ugh, too heavy,” Batgirl shook herself free of maudlin thoughts. “So, BB. Have you finished signups for college yet? God, isn’t the admissions process the very _worst_?”

Red Robin let them talk over her. If she felt a slight pang that she couldn’t contribute to the excitement of upcoming college life, well, she didn’t let it show.


	7. Dick's Day

_Timi’s knuckles were bruised and swollen, so when she practiced her fingering against the edge of the table in the Manor’s kitchen, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see the evidence of her failures._

_“Schumann,” a soft voice made her jump about three feet in the air and spin around._

_Alfred smiled at her gently._

_“Y-yes,” Timi stammered out._

_“I believe that was_ Traumerie _.”_

_“Um… yes?” Timi was unexpectedly lost in fascination. “You know piano music, Alfred?”_

_“My dear Miss Timi,” Alfred said loftily. “I have been to more music halls than you have had hot dinners. I particularly liked_ Kinderszenen; _even when I resented being forced to learn it as a boy, I could not help but be moved by the slow sweetness of it. I do wonder why you appear to be miming it on the kitchen table, though.”_

_Timi flushed. “Um… I have a recital coming up in a week and my parents’ piano has a broken string, so I just try to practice my fingering whenever I can and—”_

_Alfred’s upraised hand halted the guilty deluge of words. “Ah, I see what caused it. But what I_ meant _was why are you practicing at my kitchen table when we have eight pianos in the Manor itself — nine if you include the 17 th Century virginal stored in the attic.”_

_Timi froze. She had noticed a gorgeous grand piano in the ballroom but didn’t dare go past looking at it. Mr. Wayne had made it very clear she wasn’t welcome here. “I don’t want to disturb Mr. Wayne when he’s trying to sleep,” she offered in a small voice. It seemed like the only politic thing to say._

_Alfred’s lips pursed. “Come with me for a moment.”_

_The butler paused to grab a rather dusty set of keys out of the key cabinet before leading Timi upstairs. Timi felt herself tensing with every step — this was a_ lot _closer to the living quarters than she felt she had a right to go._

_Alfred was unstoppable and imperturbable though. He led the way to a small rotunda at the very end of the corridor on the second floor and unlocked the door. It opened to reveal a heavily shuttered, dim, perfectly round room, filled with shapes under dusty white sheets._

_In the centre was clearly the shape of a baby grand piano._

_“This is the music room,” Alfred told her while Timi looked around with curiosity. “Master Wayne used to take lessons here as a boy. It was built to be soundproof and the piano is tuned every year. You wouldn’t be disturbing anyone if you were to come here to practice.”_

_“I couldn’t do that,” Timi ran her hands over the forbidden dust sheet. “This is Mr. Wayne’s room. It’s his piano. I can’t… I’ll be fine, I’ll ask my parents to fix the piano when they get home.”_

_“Miss Timi,” Alfred insisted gently. “I assure you, Master Wayne is a firm believer that everything you keep should have a use. Nothing in here has found much use of late. I would be very pleased if you would help me maintain the room, as it means a great deal to Master Wayne. Please feel free to come here and practice any time. I promise you Master Wayne will not mind.”_

_It was only until the recital, Timi told herself, so she could do her parents proud when they heard the piano teacher’s report. She was very careful to shut the door tightly and to play very softly._

_Afterwards, it was only going to be until her parents got back so she could get the piano at home fixed._

_Between one thing and another, though, she never did get around to telling them. The piano at the Drake’s home remained unfixed for years after that._

*

Breakfast was a blissfully quiet affair on Sunday, as the entire household sans Alfred was all sleeping in. Timi bolted down some eggs, fruit salad and toast, kissed Alfred on the cheek for the incomparable 300oz travel mug of iced coffee he prepared for her, grabbed a large thermos of ice water from the fridge, and got in the car service to get to work.

At the front entrance plaza, she handed off the gallon thermos to a surprised Mr. Jhan, who was once again occupying a pedestrian bench. He’d brought a book to read and his phone.

“You can wait in the lobby, you know,” Timi offered. “It’s air conditioned.”

Mr. Jhan politely shook his head. “There is no purpose in suffering for a point if there is no suffering. Remember I am here. Tell others. Let that be the spur at your backs.”

“I have meetings about it today,” Timi told him. “I’ll have meetings until you have everything you asked for, I promise.”

“Do not promise,” Mr. Jhan told her. “Do.”

Timi nodded and went inside. Tam didn’t bother emailing her schedule today. She was already in the suite, putting together briefing packets for the board meeting at nine thirty, where Timi would have to put forth her proposals and then defend them from a grilling that would make the Inquisition look like a series of politely worded notes, from a bunch of executives already unhappy about being called in for an emergency session on Sunday.

“Ready to go to war?” Tam asked archly, stapling away.

“Born that way,” Timi wriggled her feet in her thrice cursed heels. “We need to be done by one, come what may. Dick will kill me if I miss Extravaganza Week; he’s deliriously enthused for it.” Timi thought about that statement and added, “More so than usual.”

“Ah yes, your one o’clock appointment,” Tam smirked. She dug around in her bag laying at her feet before withdrawing… “I think you’ll need this.”

Timi frowned. “A Gotham Knights hat? Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Dick’s taking us to a _baseball game_?” Timi’s mouth dropped open. “He doesn’t even _like_ baseball!”

Tam laughed at her. “Hidden depths. Everybody has them. Even, improbably, Dick Grayson. One o’clock, at the Stadium. I have been entreated in the strongest terms to get you there on time.”

Best laid plans being what they were, a couple of board members ran late, they insisted on going through the numbers even though she’d told them to look them over beforehand, and then the grilling started.

Trained to withstand torture, the board’s inadequate hooks, insinuations and machinations didn’t ruffle her. Most of her problem was that the younger board members — the ones not hidebound, who were willing to think outside the box and who, crucially, were more likely to be sympathetic to disenfranchised workers — were all on summer vacation because most of them had kids. Timi was left with the old guard; old, conservative money spinners who’d been on the dynamic end of the greed-is-good years and now lived in mortal terror of parting with pennies, lest they leave in a flood.

Timi did her best but breaking down her proposals into bite size chunks for them to swallow took a long time. She ended up racing for the Stadium in her work clothes and a baseball hat, frantically texting apologies.

One good thing about Jason Todd, he was tall enough to easily spot in a crowd. He sardonically waved her over. “You missed the tailgate party, Baby Bird.”

“The height of cuisine,” Timi rolled her eyes. “How will I ever cope?”

“There she is!” Dick shouted over. “Ti- _mi_ , you’re late! You said you wouldn’t be late!”

“I’m sorry,” Timi said, and meant it. “The meeting ran long, and I couldn’t get away. Are we going to the box?”

“We _could_ go to the box,” Bruce muttered almost quietly. “We _have_ a box.” He was promptly showered in baseball caps and jeers.

Damian, meanwhile, was looking downright mutinous. “We _should_ be in the box. Why must we subject ourselves to the filthy, rubbish-covered stadium where we have no vantage point?”

“Don’t worry, Dami,” Dick assured him cheerfully. “You can sit on my shoulders if you want to see.”

“Oh, suck it up gremlin,” Jason snorted while Barbara handed out tickets. “Slum it with the peasants every once in a while.”

“Don’t worry, demon brat,” Stephanie added, fearlessly ruffling the boy’s hair. “Us serfs don’t bite.”

He growled at her while Cass silently laughed at them all.

They went into the stadium proper, among the heat and noise of the roaring crowd. Babs’ wheelchair caused no trouble. People were always amazed at the fact that Gotham — a tapestry of old architecture — was an accessibility mecca. Timi wondered what they’d think if they knew the cause was a fallen hero and a rich man’s guilt.

It was a good game, going by the crowd decibel level alone. Even though the heat was blistering, the stadium was packed. Timi tried to pay attention to the plays, ebbs and flows; she wasn’t a baseball fan, but she subscribed to the philosophy that you could learn something from anything. Her phone wouldn’t leave her alone, though. For all the whinging she’d gotten over being called in over a matter ‘that could have waited until Monday’, the board members were certainly feeling free to spam her with clarification requests and objections and frankly insulting counteroffers. Tim spent a lot of her time spamming them right back, copying everyone in nipping resistance in the bud as much as she could while the white noise of the crowd pulsed around her.

The sound of music eventually made her look up. “What’s happening now?” It didn’t look like play was in progress.

“Half time show,” Dick had an unhappy slant to his mouth. “You’d know if you’d been watching.”

Timi felt guilt surge up inside of her. Before she could open her mouth, Bruce stretched out in his seat — no little act, he was a big man. “Okay, time for snacks. You all in?”

“You paying?” Stephanie asked gleefully, as if that wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

Bruce wordlessly handed over a credit card, which Jason promptly snatched and announced. “Nachos for all!” to the crowd at large. “Bruce Wayne is paying!”

“You all go get food,” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Timi and I are going to the souvenir stand.”

Timi blinked. “We are?”

“You look like you’re about to die of heat stroke in that jacket, kiddo, MM LaFleur or not.”

They ended up in a large, ludicrously overpriced merch shop, sorting through various racks of breathable team shirts that were small enough for her.

“Do you know why Dick picked a baseball game?”

Timi looked up from where she was wrinkling her nose at some of the choices. “No, actually,” she blinked. “Do you? Because I couldn’t work that one out. Dick’s not really into sports.” Not including Olympic gymnastics, but that was only to yell at the TV about proper form.

“I have an inkling,” Bruce’s voice was dry. “Dick and Jason shared an Extravaganza Week one year; only one. They alternated days, but this was the era when they still weren’t communicating very well, so who got to pick the last day’s activity was a tooth and nail fight.” Bruce’s voice was filled with a wistful wryness, and a hint of melancholia for a simpler time.

“Okay? So what happened?”

“Eventually I got called in as a tiebreaker,” Bruce smiled. “I didn’t want to pick one of the choices over the other, because that would have made the rivalry so much worse, so I said we’d go to a baseball game instead. I don’t know what made me think of it; _I_ wasn’t much into sports either. I suppose I must have thought that every father has to do that at least once with his sons to be normal.”

Timi snorted. As if they were ever normal.

“I know,” Bruce nodded, reading her mind. “I admit, some of it was just me grasping at straws, desperate not to alienate anybody. So, we went to a baseball game. I think it was well past the halftime show before Dick or Jason stopped glaring in opposite directions to each other. I’m pretty sure they bonded over junk food more than anything else.”

“Oh,” Timi added up the facts. “You think this is Dick’s way of… welcoming Jason back into the family, sort of?” She considered that, looking down at racks of lurid colours. “He’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

Bruce barked out a laugh. “Not exactly, no. Subtlety is a bit like the perfect diet to Dick; something to be striven for but never fully achieved.”

“And yet, Jason came,” Timi added softly. She knew everyone thought Jason was the least talented detective of the Bats, but in practical terms that was like saying rubies were less valuable than diamonds. Even if Jason was behind them, he was still lightyears ahead of everyone else. There was no way he hadn’t picked up on the subtext.

Timi was glad. This felt like real progress.

“He did,” Bruce agreed. “So, do you understand why Dick’s so passionate about this week, about having everyone here for it? It’s so rare that we’re all together and not fighting.”

Timi nodded, feeling guilt swamp her. As if in response, her phone buzzed yet another incoming email. “I’m glad we’re all here too, B.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Bruce smiled. “So am I. Hey, here we go. You want to mess with your siblings a bit?” He held up a right sized shirt temptingly.

She laughed when she saw it. “Absolutely.”

“We could get some shoes, too.”

“Nope,” Timi shook her head. “You know me and shoes. If they’re not red and glittery, they’re not my thing.”

Bruce smiled.

Dick let out a groan of dismay when he saw them come back. “Ti-mi, you traitor!”

Timi proudly spun around, showing the Metropolis colours off. “Sorry Dick, but I play with the winning team. History and statistics are on my side.”

“Don’t blame us if you get stomped on, Baby Bird,” Jason said placidly around a mouthful of nachos. “We’re deep in Knights territory over here.”

Timi shrugged, jamming her spare baseball cap onto a protesting Damian’s head because she’d also gotten a hat to go with her ensemble. “I can take ‘em.”

“Word,” Stephanie gave her a fist bump.

Timi ignored her phone for the rest of the game. Bruce, Dick and Jason got into heated three-way discussions about strategy and draft picks while Babs, Steph, Cass and Timi ate half their body weights in nachos, peanuts and curly fries. Damian was drawn into the debate almost despite himself, and they all ended up roaring with the crowd as the afternoon pressed on.

Timi relaxed back and watched it all fondly. Dick beamed at her when he got the chance to. Even though she’d be going back to the office after this to put out all the fires started in her absence, right now she was just going to be here with her family.

Also, Damian ended up on the kiss-cam and got kissed on either cheek by Steph and Cass, who sat either side of him. He died of embarrassment and the rest of them all died laughing.

It was a pretty great afternoon.


	8. Babs Day

_She dutifully took the music sheets her mother handed to her._

_“I need you to practice these.”_

_“Yes, Mother.”_

_“At least two hours every day Timianna, no exceptions.”_

_“Yes, Mother. I will.”_

_“Your father and I will be in Beijing all week. I expect you to be sufficiently proficient by the time we get back so that we might start practicing together.”_

_Timi froze. To cover her flinch, she looked more closely at the sheets and realised her mother had just handed her a duet piece — four hands on one piano. “You… are going to play with me?”_

_“Who else? I’ll be Primo, you must learn Secondo. I’m counting on you, Timianna. With focus and diligence, I’m sure you will manage a duet just fine.”_

_“Yes, Mother. I’ll practice every day,” Timi promised, clutching the sheet music in her hands._

_And she did; hour upon hour upon hour. It meant a lot to her to get this right. Her mother wouldn’t be pleased if she failed at a set task and Timi wouldn’t be pleased to displease her. She practiced until her joints swelled._

_The reward was worth it, though, when her mother sat down beside her the promised week later and they fine turned the performance. Truthfully, there wasn’t much fine tuning to be done. Timi got her photographic memory and burning convictions from her father, but her mother was a logical, cerebral creature. A technical performer, like Timi. She hit the notes with absolute perfection and total absence of art. They shared a mutual satisfaction at the rightness of precision. They played together very well._

_“Mother,” Timi took a gamble. “Would you like to try a different duet than Gershwin Prelude No 1? We could try something Classical…”_

_“No, this will be good enough,” Janet frowned down at the keys, her mind still pacing through the notes, looking for flaws. “It’s sufficiently advanced for a challenge. I daresay they don’t play that at recitals and concerts very much these days.”_

_“You don’t go to recitals,” Timi pointed out, at the very edge of her courage. She carefully modulated her tone to make it sound like it was an observation of recitals in general and not Timi’s in particular._

_Her mother blinked. “Of course not. Why would I? If I need to know how your talents are progressing, I can ask your tutor, or I can listen to you myself right here. Where is the logic in sitting in some hall, clapping along to mediocre attempts of children I don’t know just so I can hear a performance that I can have right here at home?”_

_Timi opened her mouth, then closed it. Considered as a purely logical exercise, her mother’s reasoning was superb. And her mother was nothing if not purely, unequivocally logical._

_“Honestly, Timianna. If_ you _don’t know_ for yourself _that you are doing a thing well and with skill, if you need applause to tell you that, then you are beholden to anyone who would flatter your ego;_ not _a kind fate for an heiress and especially not one of your breeding. Remember, my girl; we are Drakes. And Drakes are beholden to no one. You perform to show your accomplishment which you should already be perfectly aware you have. Applause is for people looking for cheap validation, who have no certainty in themselves.”_

_This was the longest speech her mother had ever given her. Timi remembered every word._

_They went to a dinner party one night — intimate, for about thirty guests. Timi was taken along and paraded around like all the other female scions of wealth usually are — praised for being pleasant and charming and composed. Their host, Mr. Richardson, seemed nice enough. He patted her on the head while talking back and forth about business deals with her parents._

_“That’s it!” Janet Drake cut through the noise with a dazzling smile. “I’ve had just about enough business talk to last me all night! Timianna, let’s you and I go have some fun.”_

_Deeply puzzled, Timi nonetheless played along. She did what she had been taught and mirrored her mother’s dazzling smile. “Alright.”_

_Her mother led her to the piano and bid her sit down on the left side of the bench. Timi could hear the guests all start murmuring but she was a veteran of concerts now and let the noise of the audience wash away._

_“Ready?” her mother smiled and winked. Timi nodded._

_With no surprise in evidence, her mother started playing Gershwin. Timi dutifully played along, the notes falling out in absolute precision. Even the jaunty flare of the tune was somehow rendered mathematical._

_As they played, the guests were all tapping their feet and when they finished everybody clapped and cheered, Mr. Richardson the loudest. He was a Gershwin fan. Timi found out later her parents had landed whatever deal they’d been trying to make. Richardson had been sufficiently charmed by the mother-daughter duo belting out his favourite music on his piano._

_Her mother never offered to play with Timi again. For Janet Drake, all things had to have a use. Their duet had had a use and, once used, was logically discarded._

_Timi had mixed feelings about this. But she thought about what her mother might say if Timi ever bought it up again. She would probably say, in a slightly puzzled tone, that they’d had a duet and Timi would now always have that memory. What would be the logic in having more of the exact same thing when that memory existed, precise and perfect?_

_Timi couldn’t argue with that._

*

“You could go into the cafeteria for a meal, you know,” Timi offered Mr. Jhan, along with a thermos of ice water.

Mr. Jhan solemnly exchanged the empty thermos in his possession with the full one. “No, thank you. I am just fine right here.”

Timi nodded and sat down on the bench next to him, yawning. It was early. The dawn sky was still faintly pink.

Mr. Jhan side eyed her. “You seem tired.”

“I don’t sleep well in the heat,” Timi admitted, which was true. Summers were busy for vigilantes in Gotham. “I’ll be glad when the cool change comes in.” Also perfectly true. Even early, heat was crawling into the walls.

Mr. Jhan nodded sagely. “I will as well. My son wishes to go out and play, but we must keep him close to home for now. My daughters,” here he gave a wry grimace. “Do as they please, mostly. As long as they are home for dinner.”

Timi nodded. “It’s like that in my family too. We can do anything we want during the day, but everyone sits down to dinner, no exceptions.”

“It is very important, family,” Mr. Jhan replied mildly. “Without one to hold on to we are all just severed heads, rolling in a desert. We must defend it or defend nothing at all.”

Timi couldn’t think of a response to this melancholy and pointed observation, so she wished Mr. Jhan a good day and hurried inside, feeling guiltily relieved when the cool, climate-controlled air washed over her.

“Happy Monday,” Tam said in a flat, dead tone. “Do you want the bad news first?”

“Is there any good news?” Timi asked without much hope. Fighting yesterday’s raging tire fire had sucked all her time up before going on patrol, so she’d missed dinner with the family.

“No.”

Timi sighed. “Have at it, then.”

“Frederick, Howe, Killarney and a couple more of the old guard took it upon themselves to email a counteroffer to Peakcod Inc. head counsel.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Timi groaned. She’s wondered why they’d acquiesced to her late evening replies so easily. They must have their little boys club behind her back while she’d been at the game.

“Needless to say, the offer wasn’t generous and the attorney, Ms. Sharpe, was exactly as her name implied. You’ve got a thousand-word email in your inbox right now outlining the myriad of ways the counteroffer was rejected by her clients.”

Timi buried her face in her hands. “I want to sleep now. Okay,” she looked up and thrust her chin out. “How many are involved in this little cabal?”

“Frederick’s the ringleader. Howe and Killarney follow him like sheep. I’d say Yardley and Oppanaight are sort of leaning in, but they’re open to being swayed. No one else seems to have gotten involved.”

“Okay, once their PA’s are in call in every favour you’ve got. I want a minimum of fifteen minutes of alone time with each and every one of the board. Let’s see them argue my proposals to my face. I’ll turn whomever I can turn. Leave Frederick to last and see what you can do to keep him and his lieutenants from finding out,” Timi nodded. Timi was a fine debater, she rarely lost a one-on-one argument. “While you’re doing that, I’ll reassure Peakcod’s people and get in touch with their attorney.”

“Can do,” Tam nodded.

Timi sadly wriggled her sore toes; she wouldn’t be wearing her glittery red tennis shoes at the office today.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Tam retrieved a box from her desk. “Barbara asked me to give you this and that she’ll see you promptly at 2pm in the Diamond Convention Hall.”

Feeling a faint stirring of hope for the first time, Timi eagerly opened the box and pulled out— “Ha! God bless Babs.”

She put the box away; fun times were for later. Now she had to get to work.

The war of words with Ms. Sharpe over email while the day really got going was more interesting than harrowing. The woman was sarcastic, snippy and, yes, sharp, but she clearly had her clients’ interests at heart and seemed willing to be persuaded that Timi felt the same. She wasn’t slow to point out, though, that Timi hardly had all the casting votes.

So Timi had to go and court votes for the rest of the morning and through lunch. As far as scheduling went, Tam had been as magnificent as she ever was, but she couldn’t sit in the room with Timi while she gritted her teeth and explained patiently over and over again that _yes,_ Wayne Enterprises could afford this and _yes_ , it was less costly that a class action suit that _would_ run into billions and _yes_ there was damn precedent and she could cite every damn one of them.

She saved Mr Frederick for last — the most elderly of the old guard and the one least inclined to listen. He was stubbornly convinced that Wayne Enterprises was not legally liable for Peakcod — companies dissolved upon having their assets bought all the time and, while it was a shame for the workers, they ‘couldn’t afford to be bleeding hearts and just give away money,’ as if the Wayne Foundation wasn’t the biggest philanthropic engine on the eastern seaboard by a wide margin.

The longer the old racist went on about their lack of responsibility towards the poor, the more dazzling Timi’s smile got because she knew Frederick’s type — in his worldview an angry man was to be heeded as a rational creature, but an angry woman was just hysterical. If Timi smiled and sweetly shot down his arguments, his signals got all mixed because he was also conditioned to respond positively to smiling young women paying attention to him.

It felt like she was chipping away at a granite wall with a plastic spoon, but Timi rebutted his arguments calmly and patiently, no matter which way he tried to provoke her. That was a game; if he could get a rise out of her with a deliberately offensive comment or a sly dig about her running to daddy to get anything done, then he could dismiss her.

She might have laughed in his face a few times.

It was a comfort to finally get in the car service outside the building and head for the Diamond District Convention Centre.

She didn’t see anyone she knew at the entrance, but the banners emblazoned the building, proclaiming it the 5th Annual Gotham Gamerlympics. Timi grinned.

When she got inside — and there was plenty of crowds to get through since it was an air-conditioned venue entertainment on a hot day — she still couldn’t see anyone. When she got to the reception counter and opened the box to the teen working it, he nodded, scanned the game controller in it, printed her a pass, and handed her a lanyard.

Timi bit back a laugh when she read what was on it. Babs had entered them all in a co-op game competition. They were apparently Gotham Public Liberators. She’d even made them a logo.

The contest was starting soon, according to the huge schedule board hanging on one wall. It was a shame. Timi hadn’t had a chance to get her game on in a long while now, and this was just the sort of place she’d have embraced going to in less busy times. As it was, she was an impeccable figure in designer business wear, flying for the north atrium where the _Dead Drop_ tournament would be held. She found the others clustered around, having a strategy session. Behind them row upon row of monitors and equipment marched up the tiers.

“There you are!” Dick crowed. “You nearly didn’t make it.”

“Traffic,” Timi explained. “What’s the play? I don’t think I’ve ever played _Dead Drop_ before.”

Damian gave a little “Tt,” at this, but Timi was pretty sure he hadn’t either.

“Mission based first person shooter co-op,” Babs explained briskly. “Assassin’s Creed but with more players in a smaller world. We’re in direct combat with the other teams to complete as many missions as possible.”

“Small teams on mystery missions surrounded by enemies,” Stephanie sighed. “ _How_ will we ever manage?”

“Admit it,” Jason broke in dryly. “You just want to make a bunch of pasty ass gamer boys cry.”

“I live to make bunches of pasty ass gamer boys cry,” Babs agreed solemnly. “And if you can take out team LiteKnight or team Batsboys specifically I’d be eternally grateful. They keep doxing my irregulars when they get their asses kicked in game space.”

Bruce looked like he understood about forty percent of the game-speak, but missions he absolutely got. “Point them out.”

Babs obligingly pointed out the culprits and they were, to a pasty man, exactly the kind of toxic gamer that game space did not need. Some of them were doing an obnoxious chant. They were oblivious to the looks they were getting for other teams — just as well, because the group stare they were getting from the Bats would have dampened their enthusiasm under the chill grip of fear around their necks.

“Are we on set up?” Timi asked Babs, still staring. A lot of Babs’ irregulars were displaced street kids — many of them girls — who needed gaming for connection and release.

“Steph’s helping too,” Babs nodded. “The rest of you can go… wander.”

Timi was too busy checking their equipment with Babs and Stephanie to enjoy the sight of various members of the family looming up to various teams (Cass being the best). She sure would have enjoyed watching them doing psych profiles on their targets while freaking them out at the same time, though.

It wasn’t long before they were neck deep in Dead Drop.

Really, even Bruce knew how to game. He had been using virtual simulations in training while most people were still using Atari consoles, so he grasped it fairly well. His children had all been trained by him and more than half of them did it for leisure as well, so the Gotham Public Liberators put in a good show, especially considering eighty percent of them had never even seen the game before.

Plus, they functioned as a unit in ways normal people just didn’t. They barely used their headsets; when they did it was brief one-word codes and odd observations. Several people watching the tournament noted this was some awe.

“Their gunplay is really fucking limited,” Jason muttered an hour in.

“Stop complaining, Todd,” Damian muttered as he took down assailants left, right and centre. “Do not project your unimaginative inadequacies onto the rest of us.”

“Language,” Bruce broke in. “Stop picking fights, you two. Steph, Cass, objective.”

“Almost there,” Stephanie reported cheerfully, lips peeled back fiercely.

“Close,” Cass agreed, calmly taking out opponents. There were howls across the atrium as she cut a swathe through several other teams without sweating.

Dick was pouting; he’d been part of an early sacrifice play in the current mission, so he was waiting the penalty time out before regeneration. “I can’t believe you all shot me.”

“Sorry Dickie, but that’s always fun,” Jason said offhandedly. “Baby Bird, any time now.”

“Incoming,” Timi reported as she dropped her incendiaries and cut down another swathe of opponents.

“Good job,” Babs reported.

They didn’t announce what they had to do next. Everybody knew it was just holding the line now.

Timi’s phone rang like a klaxon, causing her to jump and fumble with the controller. She lost precious ground in the game as a result.

“Focus, Drake!” Damian barked at her.

Timi fumbled for her phone. She’d set it to silent; if it was ringing, someone had punched in the override code. “Damn,” she muttered when she finally grabbed it. “ _Damn_ ,” she repeated when she saw the message. “Jason, shoot me.”

“What?”

Babs turned to look at her. “We’ll lose your quadrant.”

“I know,” Timi replied. “But friendly fire is less penalty time and I _really_ need to take this.”

“Just remember, you asked for this Baby Bird,” Jason frowned, repositioned, and took her out with one quick shot.

Timi ripped off her headset as the penalty timer came up on her screen and headed for the nearest quiet corner of the atrium, frantically Google searching on her phone. Her heart sank when she saw the results.

She rang the lawyer. “Ms. Sharpe,” Timi started.

“ _Ah, I see you’ve seen the news_.”

“’The Slaves Of Wayne Enterprises’. Yes, I’ve seen the news,” Timi replied to this flatly, feeling the work of the morning go down the drain. “It’s rather fascinating, since not four hours ago you advised me that you were willing to give me a week to sort the board out.”

“ _I was_ ,” Sharpe was unrepentant. “ _My clients weren’t and frankly, they’re the ones paying me. They feel they are not getting an adequate or timely response from Wayne Enterprises regarding their status, and as the emergency assistance program ends in eleven days, they didn’t feel that waiting for Wayne Enterprise to ‘sort itself out’ was a winning strategy. If we have us use the press to shame WE into action, by law we can, we will, and we are. Sorry kid, but we can’t pussyfoot through this. Lives are at stake._ ”

“I’m well aware, Ms. Sharpe,” Timi’s voice was solid ice. “I’m the one who tallied every single one of the health expenses in the report you leaked. And I’d prefer you not to call me kid.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line while Sharpe rearranged her expectations. “ _I apologise Ms. Drake-Wayne. I wouldn’t have preferred the thumbscrew method, but I can only advise my clients; they have the final say. I suggest you get your house in order or get your legal team ready for a massive class action. I’m ready when you are when it’s time to come to the table._ ”

She hung up before Timi could argue further.

Dejected, Timi went back to her station. She tried her best to put aside the disheartening feeling of failure, but some of the magic leaked out of the day after that.

She knew how to compartmentalise with the best of them, though, so she still put in a good showing. They won third place and some nifty new computer equipment for the Gotham public library. They could have won first but Babs directed them to protect other teams — mostly composed of impoverished kids who needed the prize money a lot more than they ever would. Timi suspected their actions would be spoken of across every gaming forum in Gotham by tonight.

For an exercise in teamwork and strategy, Babs had certainly managed to get them all engaged and feeling good by the end of the day.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Bruce asked her as Jason and Dick were obligingly lifting cheering winners on their shoulders for photo ops. “You seem a bit down.”

Timi sucked in her disappointment and smiled reassuringly. The others were having fun, her problems were her own. “I’m okay. Just work stuff, you know. Let’s go buy some dinner for the winners; it’ll be good exposure for them.”

Bruce put an arm around her. “That’s a good idea, baby.”

Timi’s smile turned a little more real.


	9. Damian's Day

_The media room of the library was usually empty, mostly because their idea of ‘media’ had stopped around the VCR era. It had turned into a tomb of useless and outdated odds and ends stacked to the walls. About the only redeeming feature in all the junk was an old round table that probably once graced a staff room somewhere._

_Timi was grateful for the media room. It was a quiet spot where she could sort through her photographs of Batman and Robin. Her parents had found out about the makeshift dark room she’d built in one of the auxiliary bathrooms and had_ not _been pleased. She was therefore obligated to use the school’s photography lab, at least until her parents left for another trip. The media room was a godsend._

_She was surprised and annoyed, therefore, to realise there was someone else in the media room when she got there in the afternoon._

_He was a spindly, knobbly, bespectacled boy about her age, disconsolately moving various bits of paper and a fold-up stand of card._

_“What are you doing in here?” Timi huffed._

_“What are_ you _?” the boy retorted rudely._

_Timi frowned. “I asked first.” Then she blinked as she took in the whole of him. “Why are you wearing a bathrobe?”_

_The boy went redder than pasta sauce. “It’s not a bathrobe, stupid! It’s a costume!”_

_“I’m not stupid, I was just asking! It’s not like that kind of thing would be ignored by the school’s dress policy!”_

_“Of course it isn’t!”_

_“Then why are you wearing it, stupid?”_

_If possible, the boy went even redder. He mumbled something under his breath that she asked him to repeat. “It’s for Dungeons & Dragons.”_

_Timi blinked, baffled._

_“I guess you want to make fun of me for it too, huh?” the boy said bitterly after a minute’s silence._

_“I’ve never even heard of Dungeons & Dragons,” Timi replied bluntly, annoyed at the accusation. “How could I make fun of you if I don’t even know what it is?”_

_The boy looked up, surprised. “You’ve never heard of D &D? Do you live under a rock?”_

_Timi felt herself going red. “If it’s a game, my parents don’t really approve of games. They taught me chess and go, though.”_

_“Oh,” the boy fidgeted a little. “Like, no games at all? Not even Go Fish or something?”_

_“They’re busy,” Timi muttered. “They think games are distracting.”_

_He looked really sorry for her. Timi had no idea what to do with that._

_Feeling awkward, her photos burning a hole in her bag, Timi cast about for any way out of the situation. “So… how do you play? Do you play it by yourself, is that why you’re in here?” If that was true, maybe she could try it at home._

_“Uh, no?” the boy looked at her, ears glowing red. “Um… it’s a multiplayer game.”_

_Timi raised her eyebrows. “Are there more people coming?”_

_The boy looked away. “I invited some but… um, I guess they were busy, so I’ll just pack up and you can have the room.” He awkwardly got to his feet, looking anywhere but at her, and started to gather his papers._

_Timi suddenly felt very sorry for him. None of the girls liked her in this school and the boys all ignored her or made fun of her. She’d never been very good at making friends. Her interests were always so… different._

_“How do you play it?” Timi asked suddenly. “How does it work? I can see there’s dice involved; is it a probability game?”_

_The boy looked at her. “It’s like… it’s like in English class, you know, when the teacher has us write a story? Like that. Except we’re writing it as we go, together, with characters that we create. The dice are used to determine whether the choices we make in the story work out or determining which way the story goes.”_

_“Oh,” Timi slowly took a seat at the table, setting her bag at her feet. She frowned. “But what if you get a bad throw and die or something?”_

_“Dice tosses aren’t life or death,” the boy warmed to his subject. “They just change the situation. Then you have to adapt to it.”_

_“Hm,” Timi looked over the papers. “What are these?”_

_“Character sheets. You start the game by making a character and then picking a quest to go on and an environment to survive. Would you, uh, like to try it?”_

_Timi nodded, already absorbing information on the character sheet. It looked extremely complicated, but she was very good at problem solving._

_“I’m Sebastian, by the way,” the boy added as an afterthought. “Sebastian Ives.”_

_“Timianna,” Timi replied to this._

_The more she learned about D &D, the more convinced she became that her parents would _never _approve. Her mother would find it too frivolous, with no logical, tangible value. Her father would find it frustrating, having pieces of history mixed together with no deeper specificity, no understanding or reverence for the facts._

_But she liked it. It was a test of resourcefulness and imagination, a what-if simulator with paper and ink. Sebastian noted with some awe that Timi had a natural knack for writing quests, even though her characters were a bit bland. Timi didn’t think Sebastian ever made the connection between her D &D questing and Gotham at large. What else was Gotham but the world’s most hair-raising action adventure story? When she was looking for a story to tell, she just recounted Batman’s latest case._

_Timi wisely decided to keep her illicit hobby to forgotten media rooms, never to be shared with the world at large._

*

“Dick?” Timi scrubbed her eyes. Between the gaming comp and desperately managing PR until patrol, sleep had been practically non-existent. She wasn’t sure if Dick was an exhaustion induced hallucination or not.

But no, he was still there; sitting in the kitchen, cheerfully eating cereal even though the sun was just coming up.

“Morning, babydoll,” Dick waved cheerfully. “Alfie’s gone to the early markets because he wants to get some special stuff for Damian’s Extravaganza dinner tonight. There’s… something? In the fridge to eat but I don’t like the look of it.”

“In other words,” Timi said dryly. “It’s healthy and packed with essential vitamins. Ooh, lentil salad!”

“Ugh. It looks like something growing in a pond,” Dick made a face.

“Dick, your cereal looks like a rainbow puked in the gutter outside a bar,” Timi protested, grabbing her _healthy_ breakfast and, _bless Alfred_ , another 300oz mug of iced coffee. Even with the Manor being climate controlled to a fault, heat was starting to crawl into the walls.

“Hey,” Dick clutched his bowl protectively. “It’s good!”

“It’s sugar. It’s literally sugar. You could sit there eating sugar cubes and it would be exactly the same food value.”

“I,” Dick said loftily, “happen to need a lot of energy to get through the day.”

“Tell me about it,” Timi dropped down into one of the chairs with her bounty. She rubbed her eyes again tiredly.

“Uh, so,” Dick’s face softened slightly. “I did kinda want to talk to you.”

“Relax, Dick, I’ve picked something,” Timi said around a mouthful of lentils. Her mother would have been appalled, but no one here cared. “I’ve ordered stuff and everything.”

Dick perked up. “Yeah? What is it?”

“Not telling.”

“But Tiiiiiimmmmmmiiiiiii!”

“Nope!” Timi shook her head. “It’s going to be a surprise. When was the last time you had a nice surprise?”

Dick opened his mouth and raised a finger, then froze.

Timi waited.

“Okay, I am trying to think of one and I can’t and now I’ve given myself a sad,” Dick admitted finally.

“Right,” Timi placidly took another mouthful. “There you go.”

Dick looked at her sceptically. “Are you sure this isn’t you stalling for time?”

Timi rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, try to do something nice…”

“Cause I’m just sayin’, if you haven’t got anything good by Friday, I am going to exact a fearsome and terrible revenge.”

“Uh huh,” Timi deadpanned. “I’m shaking.”

“I will! It will be fearsome!” Dick struck a villain pose. “It will be terrible! I can totally pull that off.”

She laughed in his face.

“Um, but seriously babydoll, what _is_ going on with you?” Dick sobered. “It feels like we have to schedule minutes of time with you. You haven’t been to an Extravaganza Dinner yet and we barely see you at the events. You’re mostly buried in your phone. We were having fun in the comp but after your phone call you were all snappish.”

Timi grimaced. “Look, I’m really sorry about that Dick but work is… is crazy right now. There’s stuff going on and it’s really important that I’m there.”

“I know,” Dick bit his lip. “But family’s important too, isn’t it? We’re all together for the first time in years. Surely you can take a day or two. Just the rest of the week. I’m not trying to guilt trip you!” Dick added hastily. “I know it sounds like it, but I’m not, really. You just look really tired and overworked and you’re not having any fun and I think you deserve a bit of fun after the year we’ve had.”

“I’m having fun,” Timi protested.

“No, you’re on your phone all the time and looking all stressed,” Dick corrected. “I get it; you’ve got responsibilities that the rest of us don’t. But I’m really worried about you. It feels like you’re heading for a burnout if you keep up a schedule like this.”

“I know!” Timi snapped. “But someone has to do it! I’m sorry my curating of your vast trust fund is inconvenient to you!”

Dick flinched.

“I’m sorry,” Timi relented, remorseful. Dick was trying to help. “You’re right. Between work and patrol and the heat, I’m not sleeping and feel like I’m spinning my wheels and… I don’t know, Dick, I’m doing my best here. But that’s all I can do, understand? I can’t take time off now. I know it’s frustrating and it’s frustrating for me too, but I just can’t.”

Dick sighed but he looked sympathetic to her dilemma. “Can you at least promise to put your phone away today? Just for us?”

Timi nodded, even as a car horn sounded. “I’ve gotta go.” She grabbed another gallon thermos from the fridge.

“Don’t they have coolers at work?” Dick asked, puzzled. Then he jumped up. “Oh, before I forget, Alfred wanted you to take this with you.” He scooped up a camera case — one of hers — from the chair next to him and held it out. “He wants lots of pictures of Damian’s Day.”

Timi was amused. She guessed that was one way to gently blackmail her into participation. _Well played, Dick_. She took the camera without comment and waved him goodbye before heading out the door.

She solemnly handed over the thermos to Mr. Jhan on her way in. He seemed surprised to see it and her.

“Oh please,” Timi shook the thermos. “How you and your co-workers decide to deal with your issues with Wayne Enterprises is your business. I’m hardly going to leave you to dehydrate out here.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Jhan took the thermos and dutifully handed back an empty one. “How close are you to an end? Khazir wishes to play outside with his friends, but we are trying to make the insulin last as long as we can.”

“You should have enough for a fortnight!” Timi protested. “They did send enough, right?”

“They have,” Mr. Jhan replied calmly, picking up his book. “But we have learned to expect the worst, so we prepare accordingly. I suggest you get to work, so that my son can start to play.”

Timi took the dismissal for what it was and headed in.

Tam was there to greet her, looking as tired as Timi felt. “Stocks are down, morale is low, but hey, contempt is on the rise, at least according to Twitter. How’s your morning been?”

“How do you always get here before me?” Timi stripped off her summer jacket, sweating faintly. The temperature just kept going up. There would be thunderstorm conditions by Friday night, but it was hard to imagine a cloud having the temerity to form in this heat.

“I hang upside down from the rafters at night,” Tam snarked, which made Timi laugh. “The board wants a meeting, legal wants a meeting, sales wants a meeting, finance wants a meeting, PR wants all the meetings, and I somehow have to get you out of here by eleven thirty.”

Timi sighed. Trust Damian to be as inconvenient as possible, even unknowingly. “Carpet bombing?”

“Carpet bombing. We’ll save the board for last, but you’re going to have to pull a VW-sized rabbit out of your tiny hat to appease them. They’re all up in arms because Peakcod went to the press.”

“Yes, it’s so inconvenient when the voiceless start speaking,” Timi sarcastically agreed. “Honestly, I’d leave them to stew in their own mess if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure they’d make those people miserable out of sheer spite. Let’s get to work; PR first.”

Meeting after meeting after meeting went by, eating up what little time Timi had before Damian’s thing. The board was last, where Tim had to bribe, cajole and insist that they could not risk a lawsuit. It was easy once she’d pointed out some tricky little clauses in the Peakcod terms of sale that pretty much stated that Wayne Enterprises was, in fact, legally liable. She combined the board meeting with the meeting with Legal. It helped a great deal that the lawyers all backed her up on this.

If fact, she was able to leave the board and legal duking it out; she had the excuse of handling Wayne Enterprises’ suddenly extremely shoddy image with the PR team. Since no one wanted _that_ peach of a job, they were happy for her to exit the meeting.

She waved to Mr. Jhan on her way out of the building at a dead run, into the car service which took her to, it turned out, the north side of Robinson Park.

Timi thanked the driver and made her way into the park, camera in tow. There were noises up ahead — not human ones, either. Timi grinned when she rounded a curve and came upon a banner, proclaiming today the Martha Wayne Animal Shelter Adoption Day.

Various trucks had filled the area, their sides lifting to reveal rows of cages for cats, rabbits and hamsters. There was a pen set up for dogs of all shapes and sizes. There were even a couple of ponies being taken out of a trailer as she watched. There were also some entertainment companies setting up cheap rides and a bouncy castle.

It clearly hadn’t started yet; there were scores of volunteers running around in fluorescent orange shirts trying to organise tables, water fountains and pet paraphernalia. They were setting up signposts and information booths. Timi spotted the family among them, helping set up various equipment.

Damian was in the middle of it all, giving instructions and ordering people to take care with the animals. It was a hot day, but they’d set up under a copse of trees so at least there would be shade.

“About time, Drake,” Damian snapped when he saw her. “Honestly, is being on time beyond even your miniscule capabilities?”

“Good to see you too,” Timi told him cheerfully. Honestly, the brat’s digs were so automatic at this point that she could safely ignore them. “What do you need?”

“Everybody already has their assignments,” Damian retorted. “You can staff the information booth. That shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. For you.”

Timi decided to let that one slide. “Are they going to clear the carpark for food trucks?”

“What?” Damian spun while he was checking off the roll call for various dogs.

“Food trucks,” Timi repeated louder. “Someone organised food trucks, right? It’ll bring more people in.”

Damian shrugged. “I oversaw logistics for the animals. The Shelter workers were in charge of the rest.”

Right, okay. Timi scanned the crowd, spotted a man that seemed to be doing most of the yelling to the rest of the volunteers and went to flag him down.

“Food trucks?” His blank face told her everything she needed to know.

Timi sighed and got out her phone.

An hour later they had baked potatoes, sandwiches, doughnuts, crepes, shawarma and a couple of burger and taco stands jostling for space, as well as the summer favourites of ice cream and snowcone vendors setting up in the Adoption area itself. She may have tweeted a thing about the Foundation footing the food bill until 5pm. She’d also had a truck with extra carriers and pet equipment expressed in because people might come for the food, but they might leave with a pet.

Crowds flocked in droves to the Adoption Day.

Timi didn’t know where he got it, but Dick spent most of the afternoon with a small monkey on his shoulder, teaching little kids how to safely handle and approach animals. Bruce and Jason were handling some of the big dogs, trying to show prospective pet parents that these dogs — usually mill bred for fighting rings — were well socialised and not vicious. It was good to see them both at play.

Timi couldn’t see Steph anywhere, but she had her suspicions about a pile of puppies in the puppy pen. Cass was reassuring timid kids and timid animals at a fairly even ratio, showing them the joy of getting affection and adoration. Babs was collecting donations even from those not interested in adoption, particularly for the cause of old service animals.

Damian, Timi had to admit, was no poser. He wasn’t just using the day as an excuse to play with kittens. He was passionately advocating the cause of senior cats and dogs to anyone who would listen, trying to make them understand that they too deserved a loving home.

Timi watched all this from the unnoticed information booth. It was a petty little jab from Damian, but it did work out in her favour as she, guiltily, worked on her phone to help the PR department try to lift themselves out of the swamp Peakcod had dropped them into. She had promised Dick, but she couldn’t help it. It weighed on her mind.

Speaking of Dick, she spotted him coming over and hurriedly hid her phone. “Hey Dick.”

“Timi!” Dick waved and the monkey waved as well. “What are you still doing sitting here?”

“Someone has to man the information booth,” Timi told him dryly. “At least, according to Damian.”

“Oh, that little brat,” Dick sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

“It’s okay,” Timi held up a hand. “It’s his Day, Dick. If me sitting here manning the booth means that he has more fun, what’s the harm?”

“It’s supposed to be a family day,” Dick put his hands on his hips. The monkey did the same. “He knows better than this now.”

“Compared to what he would have done only a couple of years ago, this is nothing,” Timi rolled her eyes. “Damian still has trouble even understanding how he feels, let alone expressing it. He’s not going to be a sunshine and roses kid anytime soon, not after ten straight years of conditioning and abuse. I saved his father’s life. He doesn’t know what to do about me anymore. I suspect that scares him, and we all know how Damian deals with fear.”

Dick looked mournful.

“It’s fine,” Timi smiled at him. “He’s getting better. So am I. Sometimes he falls back on old behaviours when he’s too stressed to think it all through. This Adoption Day is really important to him. It hits him in a vulnerable spot.”

Dick softened as he looked over at Damian, who was cuddling an old ginger cat to show the crowd how affectionate it was. “It really does, doesn’t it? Look, why don’t you wander around for a while. Take some photos. Get a snowcone, for heaven’s sake, it’s two hundred degrees. Hell, bring _me_ one. I’ll man the booth,” he suited action to words and gently lifted her out of the booth. “I suspect I’ll get more interest with Roscoe, here.” The monkey chirruped.

“I meant to ask…”

“Let’s just say that not all circuses are run as well as Haly’s, and leave it at that,” Dick shooed her away. “Snowcones. Blue for preference. Oooh, and cotton candy.”

“You’re on the express train to diabetes. You do know that, right?”

He laughed and waved her off, already attracting some fascinated children.

Honestly, a snowcone felt like just the thing right now. She was sweating like mad after sitting at the information booth all afternoon. Thank goodness she’d remembered sunblock, because she wasn’t one of those types that tanned — at all. Getting away from the booth also gave her the chance to use her camera. She felt an avalanche of whimsy as she drew it out, checked the settings, and started firing away. It’s not like she never used a camera these days but taking crime scene photos and surveillance wasn’t the same. Lighting was excellent and people were moving and smiling all around her; plenty of photo opportunities.

She hit the snowcone vendor, ordered a tray and checked that the vendor was keeping a tally of his receipts for reimbursement later. Then she went to the puppy pen. “Steph! Snowcones!”

“Snowcones! Finally, my heaven is complete!” She beamed, her face flushed and joyful. She was covered in puppies of every size and description, a mound of twitching noses and wriggling tails. She grabbed one, then engaged in a war of attrition to keep the little dogs from eating it first.

She managed to hand one off to Babs as she rolled past with a tablet. The woman waved to her in thanks but continued her spiel to interested onlookers about the benefits of adopting ex police dogs.

Cass found her rather than the other way around, ninjaing a snowcone out of her at the kitten pen while a tiny little kitten popped its head out of her polo shirt pocket. “Shy.” Was her only explanation. Timi took a photo because it was cute beyond words and wondered to herself if she could convince Cass to get herself a pet. She was eminently capable, but Timi worried she might be lonely in Hong Kong.

Next, she went to the big, enclosed running yard, where Bruce and Jason were humanising the big dogs.

“See?” Jason said as a huge Pitbull rolled on its muscular back in front of a very dubious little boy. “This boy’s a big ol’ marshmallow. Yes, you are.” He scrubbed the offered belly with his huge hand and invited the kid to do the same. The boy relaxed when the big dog started wagging its tail in ecstasy.

“Takes one to know one,” Timi cut in slyly.

“Make your declarations tasteful, Replacement, ‘cause I will make you eat ‘em later. Oooh, gimme!” he reached for a snowcone. “It’s a thousand degrees out here. What the he-ck,” he cast his eyes at their young audience. “Are you doing dressed like that?”

“Gainful employment is such a drag, not that you’d know. Where’s Bruce?”

Jason jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Making a case for interbred pedigrees, which is on brand for his family tree.”

Timi decided to leave that where it lay, took a few shots, and moved on.

Bruce was indeed expounding over what looked like a purebred black poodle to a wealthier young couple than the Adoption Day would usually see.

“The upside is, they’re extremely intelligent,” Brucie was saying. “The downside is, they’re extremely intelligent. As a father of several actual human beings, let me tell you, none of them caused as much trouble as the intelligent ones, especially when they got bored.”

“Hey!” Timi protested. “I resemble that remark!”

“Timi!” Bruce grinned at her, sweaty but as relaxed as Bruce generally got. “Come on kiddo, don’t make me start listing incidents. There was the Exploding Grill Incident, the Bottle Rocket Incident, the—”

“Okay, okay,” Timi played along while the couple laughed. “No need to list chapter and verse. Snowcone?”

“Mmmm, thanks sweetheart,” Bruce snitched one. “Good to see you out from behind the info booth. Go play with the cats, I know you like cats.”

Timi smiled; Bruce had noticed. He’d probably sent Dick her way. She felt warmed by something not the sun for once. She also managed to get a shot of Brucie Wayne swallowing half a snowcone at once and the subsequent freeze-headache, which was hilarious.

Snowcones beginning to melt in earnest, she went to the senior cattery section to find Damian still trying to get seniors into a good home. She put the snowcones down to take a few shots of Damian’s face, free of its usual scowl or ground-in wariness, suffused with softness and passion. Rarely did any of them catch more than a flash of such an expression, even in the safety of home.

It was just as well she’d taken them, because when she picked up the snowcones and came closer, the expression evaporated into his usual perpetual grouch. “Drake, what are you doing here?” he demanded. “You’re supposed to be at the information booth.”

“Dick dropped by and said I could take a break,” Timi explained mildly.

Damian lips pursed. He may not be happy about it, but he wouldn’t argue with Dick over it, mostly because he knew he’d lose.

“Snowcone?” Timi made a peace offering. “They’re a bit melty but they’re still nice and cold.”

Damian muttered something about artificial fairground confections, but he took one, so she was prepared to take that as a win.

“How many have been adopted out?” Timi asked.

Damian frowned but answered. “Almost all. The turnout was very good; better than we expected.”

Timi nodded. “I’m glad. It’s good that they’re going to loving homes. There’s a community cat project in the Bowery where people keep an eye on feral cats and feed them—”

Damian snorted. “I am well aware of community cat projects in Gotham, Drake. Cease your blathering and get back to the information booth. Grayson is needed out here. _You_ are not.”

Timi sighed and retreated from the field. She had no idea what Damian’s problem was this time but he was going to his usual fallback, i.e., lashing out at her. She drew out her phone while walking back to Dick and grimaced at the emails that had piled up in the last half an hour, narrowly avoiding stepping in pony droppings on the pony ride route as she neared the booth.

“Snowcones!” Dick cheered, then wilted. “It’s a bit more like an iceberg, though.”

“Sorry, I ran around getting everyone else snowcones too. Got some good shots though.”

“Eh, it’s still cold, I’ll take it,” Dick took his sleetcone while Roscoe watched it, fascinated. “Enjoying the day?” Dick asked eagerly.

“They’re having a lot of fun,” Timi nodded. “So am I,” she added hastily when Dick looked at her. “It’s just too hot, that’s all. Are you sure the animals are all okay?”

“Please, Wayne Tech provided climate-controlled trucks and fountains. Conditions are more humane for them than for us,” Dick snorted.

Timi wiped her brow. She felt disgusting right now and the heat wasn’t helping the smell of so many animals and people crammed in together.

“So, do you think you’ll make it to—hey!”

Timi had dropped her snowcone and taken off at a dead run towards the pony track, her mind doing horrible calculations as she ran. Teenagers + open dog pen + overexcited dog stampede + small horses not at home around huge, excited barking dogs + spooked pony + dogs instinctively chasing + toddler in the middle of the pony track.

Timi outpaced the dogs, outpaced riderless pony, coming in at an angle and grabbed the tiny child, curling up around him as the pony thundered past, catching her sharply across the back of one shoulder with a shod hoof as it did.

Then she was swamped in dogs. But they were friendly dogs, so it wasn’t too bad. She pushed away an inquisitive Newfoundland and tried to ignore a sharply barking German Shepherd as she sat up, sobbing toddler in her arms. “Ouch.”

“ _Sit!_ ” came the growled command. The dogs all sat at lightning speed.

Timi looked around wildly for Batman, but it was Bruce coming towards her as Jason and Cass sprinted past, in hot pursuit of more dogs and the poor, spooked pony.

“Timi, are you alright sweetheart?” Bruce pushed his way through the pack.

“Ow. Yes. Got kicked, back of the shoulder,” Timi sniffed the air ominously. “Aaaand I think I just rolled in pony droppings, so my humiliation is complete.”

The humour didn’t land very precisely on Bruce, who still didn’t look happy, but Stephanie could be counted on seeing the funny side even if she still looked sympathetic. She was chuckling as she attached leads to various dogs.

“How many cameras captured that little show?” Timi asked, rubbing the crying child’s back.

“All of them, probably.”

“Thanks Steph, you’re a true friend.”

“Don’t get up yet baby, just let me check you over, okay?” Bruce crouched down next to her even as the distressed parents of the toddler came running up. Timi noted their stroller was empty but the straps were still done up. Looks like the kid was a miniature Houdini. She gratefully handed him off; she didn’t have much actual experience with toddlers.

“Holy stampede,” Dick came over. He was breathing hard and leading a poor, sweating, panting pony by its harness, Roscoe clinging gamely to his head. “That was kind of wild. She okay?”

“She can hear you and she’s fine,” Timi grumped as Bruce gently prodded her shoulder. “Seriously B, the thing just clipped me. I’ve had worse at a martial arts class.” She had. She’d also had a lot worse on patrol. “It’s the smell that’s getting to me.”

Bruce barked out a laugh. “Could be worse, baby. Smells are relatively painless to fix. Did you get them all?” he asked Jason and Cass as they re-joined the group.

“Yeah, they’re good,” Jason waved from his brace of leashed dogs. “Has someone yelled at the morons who opened the gate, because if not I absolutely volunteer.” Cass also raised a hand behind him.

“No need,” Damian’s voice was clipped. “I shall deal with it. Drake, you should go home. You stink.”

“Dami,” Dick admonished.

Damian rolled his eyes. “She might welcome the chance to shower before she returns to her duties at Wayne Enterprises. I doubt whether the other executives will appreciate the smell of horse manure. Plus, Alfred can check her shoulder there better than we can here.”

Timi blinked.

“Damn, demon brat,” Jason said admiringly. “Next thing you know you’ll have graduated to hugging.”

“Be silent Todd. It is not only for her benefit. We have nearly adopted out all the animals we brought today. Having her here will hardly inspire confidence in would-be pet owners when she looks like that.”

“Aaand there’s the Damian we all know,” Stephanie rolled his eyes.

“No, he’s right,” Timi levered herself to her feet. She had a leg graze too, awesome. “I should go and shower,” she breathed in and wrinkled her nose. “For a long time.”

“I’m about to head out anyway,” Babs rolled up, waving her keys. “I’ve got some research that needs doing by tomorrow. Come on, kiddo, let’s get you home. We’ll get a pet blanket on the way out so you spare my upholstery.”

Bruce didn’t look happy about it, but he agreed. He walked them back to the car with Cass, the latter watching Timi like a hawk. When they reached the car and Bruce started spreading out the blanket, Cass nodded and said. “Not too bad.”

“Yes Cass. I _did_ say that,” Timi threw up her hands.

Cass giggled. “ _You_ never know about your own wounds.”

“That’s true,” Babs yelled from the other side of the car. “Don’t even try to argue.”

Timi muttered mutinously under her breath before she remembered. “Oh, hey,” she unstrapped the camera and handed it to Cass. “Can you get some more shots for me? Alfred wants some.” Cass was a good photographer. She’d enjoyed being taught it by Timi.

Cass nodded, taking the camera.

“Thanks, Cass,” Timi smiled.

Cass took a shot. “Hero of the day,” she explained.

Timi snorted.

“All set kiddo,” Bruce said from the open door. “Are you sure you’re okay? I could come home with you if you’re not.”

“I’m _fine_ , good grief. And don’t you dare, Damian would be hurt,” Timi insisted.

Bruce nodded. “That was a good move, baby. I’m very proud of you.”

Timi shuffled awkwardly. “Yeah, well, just don’t hug me right now, okay?”

Bruce laughed.


	10. Steph's Day

_“You want me,” Timi said slowly. “To teach Damian. To play the piano.”_

_Bruce nodded._

_“Why?!”_

_“The positive results of musical therapy are well documented in the treatment of trauma and abuse,” Bruce offered._

_“Yes Bruce, I know,” Timi had solved the mystery of the fifteen percent lull thanks to a concert hall in the Bowery, thank you. “But why_ me _? He’s not going to listen to me.”_

_“I think it would be beneficial for you to spend some time with him,” Bruce replied, as if that made any sense. “You can’t keep hiding from him at the Titans Tower, baby.”_

_“I’m_ not _hiding from him,” Timi protested hotly. Damian reacted badly to Timi’s presence, so it was only logical she stay out of the vicinity. Plus, the little demon was exceptionally stabby._

_Bruce didn’t look like he believed her, but he continued. “Okay, fine. But I still think you should spend some time with him. He’s going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future, so you should probably work towards getting along at least.”_

_Okay, Timi could see the logic in that, but not the logic in her giving Damian music lessons. She calculated exactly zero percent likelihood that it would end well._

_It didn’t. Oh god, it really didn’t._

_Their first session ended in a pitched battle which ended in Timi shielding herself with a pair of cymbals while Damian furiously swung an oboe. The second, Timi successfully tangled him in the great harp while the spitting mad ten-year-old tried to break her fingers with a half-destroyed xylophone. By the third, the drum set and half the woodwinds were a total loss and they never did find the Celtic lyre._

_The piano was never so much as scuffed. Timi defended it with her life._

_After several lectures and groundings for both of them, Bruce and Alfred agreed the music room doors would stay open during their lessons, not that they should stop._

_“Why?” Timi bemoaned. “This isn’t working, Bruce! He doesn’t listen, he doesn’t practice, he won’t recognise my authority in the room and he_ hates _me. I could be with actual friends playing D &D, or heck, I could be practicing for my _own _recitals right now and you’re standing there insisting we both sit there and make each other miserable to no tangible outcome!”_

 _“Timi,” Bruce said sternly. “You’re better than this._ Be _better than this. You’ve always staunchly defended the idea that resourcefulness counts for everything in the field. You ought to be able to find a way to reach him. Damian is not going to be able to bridge the gap — he doesn’t know how. You’re far more mature, more level-headed than he is. The responsibility must lie with you. You must find a way,” Bruce sighed, suddenly looking tired. “I… you’re both my children. I need you to learn to live with one another and I can’t stand over you and teach you that. You both need to make an effort. It’s never going to happen if you’re constantly at each other’s throats.”_

 _Timi stormed out of the study resentfully. She wasn’t at the little brat’s throat; he was just constantly going for hers! Why was it_ her _job to fix him? She wanted to go back to the Titans; at least there she was only in fear of her life twenty percent of the time. Thirty if Conner was cooking._

_She passed by Damian’s open door as she stalked and then paused. The boy was doing sword practice even though Alfred strictly forbade him to stress his hands. He was so fixated on breaking her fingers, to make it so she couldn’t play that she’d lost her temper and dislocated his thumbs during their last bout. She’d been benched for two weeks, but Damian hadn’t gone for her fingers again._

_Yet, here he was — clearly in pain — spinning the sword through various hand-switch katas. It was wobbly and graceless and he often fumbled, his scowl growing ever more frustrated and tight as he did so. He always backed up and did the move again five times when he made a mistake._

_Suddenly it hit her she’d dislocated the thumbs of a ten-year-old — hardly the actions of a hero, no matter the provocation. Worse still, Damian was so inured to deliberately inflicted injury that he was still trying to push past the pain, trying to reach a bar higher than Everest. She felt a pang of sympathy for Bruce despite herself. He was desperately trying to find a way to reach a violently homicidal, conditioned-from-the-cradle child soldier, despite not having a map to normal himself._

_“Cease importuning me with your ugly halfwit stare, you feeble imposter,” Damian sneered at her when he spotted her looking. “Go caterwaul on yon instrument like a brain-dead monkey if you require a purpose; just shut the door so none have to have the sound inflicted upon them.”_

_Timi scowled, all sympathy dried up. “Bruce likes it.”_

_That brought Damian up short. “What madness do you speak?”_

_“Bruce. Likes. It,” she insisted. “Go ask him if you don’t believe me. He_ loves _hearing me play. He goes to my recitals and applauds. When was the last time he applauded anything_ you _did? Because methinks it was exactly_ never _.”_

 _“Cease your impudence, you insolent weakling._ I _,” Damian gestured to himself. “Am father’s heir! I will give him_ much _to be proud of, not just a single, useless skill!”_

_Then he furiously slammed the door in her face._

_Huh. For the first time, Timi seemed to have hit a nerve in the kid._

_She went to her room. Resourcefulness, huh? How like Bruce to throw that in her face. Now her pride was engaged, she had to solve the problem._

_She took it apart and examined it from all sides and considered all possibilities._

_She decided, in the end, that she was coming at this from completely the wrong angle. Her mission, as set by Bruce, wasn’t to be friends with Damian, it was to get Damian to play music. He might have meant it to be a bonding exercise, but the letter of his instructions was just to get Damian musically functional. If she could do that then she was home free._

_She could complete that mission. She had just the hook for it, too._

_Which was why one evening, she invited Bruce up to the music room after dinner._

_“Come on Bruce, just for a little while. Just to help me reset my brain. I am getting sick of the Moonlight Sonata.”_

_Bruce made a face. “You’re going with Beethoven for the next round?”_

_“I know, I know,” Timi huffed dramatically. “But half the judges are from the Classical Society, what else can I do?”_

_Damian was watching this back and forth, silently seething. “Father, you said you would assist me with my aikido this evening! Drake can play by herself, as she has demonstrated doing before.”_

_Timi replied calmly. “It won’t be very long. Just, like, one song even.” She turned her most hopeful expression on Bruce._

_Bruce folded. “It’s alright, Damian. I will help Timi first, then I’ll still have plenty of time to help you.”_

_Damian scowled. “Tt.”_

_Bruce came in after dinner, where she was already seated at the piano. “Piano duo?” he asked._

_“Nope. Time to get your cello on, B.”_

_Bruce took the music sheets she handed over. “It’s been a while, kiddo.”_

_“Oh please, it’s been six months,” Timi snorted. “You went undercover at a black gala as part of the string quartet.”_

_Bruce frowned. “Oh, right. I remember now.”_

_“Getting senile in your old age?” she asked him archly._

_“Watch your mouth, young lady,” Bruce set up the music stand. “Ready?”_

_“Ready when you are.”_

_Soon the melancholy strains of Cohen’s_ Hallelujah _were ringing out of the music room._

_Timi admired Bruce’s playing; she loved to listen to it in the rare instances he showed off his classical education. He’d argue until the end of time that he was a technician like Timi, but Timi had sufficient experience in music appreciation to hear the real passion in the way Bruce played. He was a far more emotional man than he’d probably ever admit to being. He was an artist in almost everything he did._

_“That was good,” Bruce grinned as they finished. “We should do this more often.”_

_“It was fun,” Timi nodded._

_You could barely hear it, but the acoustics of the room were so good that they picked up the slight intake of air at the door. Then Damian was striding away with his nose in the air._

_Timi nodded with satisfaction. “If he’s not playing scales like a soldier training for war by tomorrow, I’ll eat the saxophone.”_

_Bruce rounded on her. “Timi!”_

_“What?” she challenged him. “You said I had to be resourceful. As the only person he will actually listen to, that makes you a resource. He wants your attention, so let’s give him something positive to gain it by.” She winked at him. “I bet you I can get him to_ Fur Elise _by the end of the month.”_

_“That wasn’t the point of this at all,” Bruce groaned._

_“You’re right,” Timi nodded. “You want us to get along. But Bruce, he hates me.”_

_“He doesn’t—”_

_“He_ does _, Bruce,” Timi cut him off. “He hates me, he hates Gotham, he hates criminals, he hates victims. He hates almost everybody and everything. That’s what he was taught; to hold the world in contempt and to feel nothing for it. He’s never going to change unless he gets praise for learning to express himself in less hateful ways. If hating me and wanting your attention gets him in the door, then fine. This is only step one. If he keeps at it, who knows? At the very least, he’ll gain some emotional intelligence along the way.”_

_Bruce sighed. She suspected he still didn’t like her methods very much, but Timi had to work with what she had. She was privately extremely dubious about their chances of seeing eye to eye since she didn’t want it any more than he did, regardless of what she said, so this was the only result she could offer._

_It wasn’t much of a victory, anyway. Damian had the same knack for instant mastery that Bruce did and, crucially, the same artists sensibilities. He had passion that could power a hydroelectric dam when properly harnessed, and it showed when he played. Seeing the boy at the piano, playing with Bruce on a deeper level than her skill would ever go, stung some part of her where she wasn’t expecting it._

_She felt a gut punch of relief months later when Alfred reported to her Damian had switched to the violin. She didn’t know if it was contempt for her, the more complicated fingering and wrist movement that was better for keeping fingers supple, the fact that the violin was portable, to be closer to Bruce or any combination of above._

_She was, she admitted to herself, meanly, small mindedly happy about it. The piano was_ hers _._

_And if she occasionally had a chuckle over how completely the little brat had been played, well, she had the good taste to keep it to herself._

*

Timi woke up to a pair of red, glittery tennis shoes hanging from her headboard with a taped note from Stephanie saying ‘Wear Me!’. Who knows what the board would think, but Timi’s toes thanked her. The swelling caused by the endless hot days hadn’t made her heels any more endurable. She now had red raw spots on various patches of her feet.

She went to work the same as always, cautiously hopeful about the day. She’d sent some shots of the Adoption Day to the PR team. Maybe a rousing community success as well as careful press releases about how they were, in fact, trying to _fix_ what other people had done to Peakcod’s employees might turn the tide. She suspected the PR department was working around the clock at this point, much like her.

It was still very early when the car service dropped her off in the plaza and she yawned her way over to Mr. Jhan with her usual gallon thermos delivery at the ready. Last night’s patrol had been brutal; four separate raids and what looked like a couple of cold cases heated back up again — appropriate, because it was getting even _hotter_. Maybe if it got hot enough, Gotham would become lawful out of sheer heat exhaustion. As it stood, the criminals were coming out in force at night, the only time of the day that even remotely offered any respite.

“Morning, Mr. Jhan,” Timi greeted him cheerfully, handing over the thermos.

Mr. Jhan took it. He seemed pensive today. “You look… different today,” he tried slowly.

“Oh, it’s the shoes,” Timi wriggled her glittered feet. “I’ve got a family thing today so it’s Casual Wednesday, I guess.”

Mr. Jhan blinked at them, seemingly taken aback. “My daughter has shoes like that.”

“They’re great, aren’t they?” Timi grinned. They were cheap-ass, K-mart made, gauzy and gauche. Her parents would have hated them, but she loved the lurid things. “So comfy.”

Mr. Jhan cracked a slight smile. “My daughter loves shiny shoes. She must have a dozen pairs, every different colour you can imagine. I don’t understand why but my wife,” he shrugged philosophically. “She thinks it’s normal.”

“Did you give her the shoes?” Timi asked.

“Yes, when she asked for them.”

Timi shrugged. “Maybe that’s why. Her dad thinks she’s worth glittery, shiny, look-at-me shoes.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Jhan contemplated that. “You’re very young, you know.”

Timi turned to look at him, puzzled.

“Very young,” Mr. Jhan repeated. “Surely there is someone up there,” he gestured to the building. “Some adult willing to do the work of an adult. At your age, you should be having fun.”

“I do have fun!” Timi protested. “Honestly, I’m getting sick of people telling me I don’t know how to have fun. I play D&D, I read, I watch movies, I skate, sometimes, and I go out with my family. My tastes aren’t, you know, very complicated, but complicated things aren’t fun for me. They’re things I have to solve. My brain doesn’t get a rest that way.”

“You are driven to work,” Mr. Jhan nodded. “So was I. I hated to be idle. I felt a terrible, revving engine in my body when I was forced to sit still. Khazil is much the same as me. He doesn’t _want_ to do things. He _must_ or go mad.”

“I suspect he’ll go a long way,” Timi smiled, slightly bittersweet. “He won’t have a choice.”

“I saw you on the news,” Mr. Jhan added abruptly.

Timi blinked at him. “What, recently?”

He showed her the video on his phone.

“Wow,” Timi sighed as she saw herself land in a pile of manure as a spooked pony kicked past. “They didn’t exactly get my good side, did they?”

“You were very brave, to do what you did,” Mr. Jhan told her.

Timi shrugged. “I never had much of a choice about that either. I should get going, duty calls. Have a nice day Mr. Jhan. Everything will be okay soon, I promise.”

Mr. Jhan cracked a smile and nodded.

All the hopefulness faded when she got into the office and saw Tam waiting for her. “How bad?” Timi asked, seeing the look on her face.

“PR’s good, stocks are back up,” Tam said first. “Legal, however, have cut our legs out from under us. The board is now convinced that while we have to pay _some_ money, it’s not going to be _all_ the money and no benefits owing since they were a separate contract.”

“What?” Timi’s mouth dropped open. “They do know that Peakcod doesn’t _have_ to take our money, right? They do have grounds to sue.”

“Apparently they only have grounds to sue the owners that deceived them, not Wayne Enterprises, regardless of our now owning the company.”

Damn, damn, damn. “Call an emergency session of the board.”

“Frederick’s already called the session,” Tam reported. “My guess is he’s got his ducks in a row.”

Quadruple damn. That wasn’t a good sign.

Timi walked into the board room and never once lost her temper. But that was the only victory she could claim. Frederick was a smug little weasel; he’d gotten cronies in legal to button up all the loopholes in Peakcod’s legal threat. He measured his success by his own safety and not the common good.

And the rest of them all agreed with him! There was some humming and harring about a little bit extra here and there, but nothing like what these people were owned and nowhere near what they needed. In the end Timi was forced to use her last resort, hail mary contingency and use her own considerable owner’s share power to force them to put it to a vote tomorrow, as per appropriate procedure.

Those smug, knowing smiles of victory burned. They thought they’d already won. Frederick had made his case to the conservatives and they’d fallen into step with the idea of getting away with parting with a pittance. She didn’t have anyone on her side.

“A vote,” Tam asked her in the elevator. “It’s a nice stall, but it’s not even a gamble. You’ll never be able to entice enough of them to the light side now, not when Frederick’s given them a legal out. I can call Dad in from vacation, he’ll come. But that’s just one more vote.”

Timi slammed a hand down on the emergency stop. “I don’t need to. I’m going to go _nuclear_ on those smug sons of bitches. You’re probably not going to like it though.”

“Are you kidding?” Tam raised her eyebrows. “I’d go any length to deflate Frederick _and_ his puffed-up snob of a PA. Whatcha got?”

“I need you to start contacting PAs.”

“I burned most of my favours with that old timers’ PAs this week,” Tam warned her. “Extravaganza Week scheduling was a bitch.”

“You only burned favours with the PAs of board members who were on duty. I need you to call _all_ board members’ PAs.”

Tam’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You want to call all members of the board back from vacation?”

“Not call them back from Acapulco or wherever they’ve gone. Just get them ready for a conference call. Executives under a WE contract must be contactable at all times, twenty-four seven. They’ll have sat phones and Skype,” Timi breathed out. “Once their PAs get in contact, get our reports and numbers to them. I don’t care how, Tam; email, courier, drone, Sherpa — hell, if all else fails have their assistants read them out over the phone. I can’t force them to show up in the call to vote but I’m betting at least some of them will.” She tapped in the emergency stop override code and the elevator started moving again. “Sorry, I think you’re on the legwork end of this. You pull this off, Tam, and you get Friday and the rest of the month off.”

“Deal!” Tam cheered. “I’ll call Dad first, he’ll help. Don’t worry, I live for this shit. I got this.”

“Good. _Thank_ you,” Timi told her sincerely. “And it goes without saying, we want to keep this on the downlow. Super blackout conditions.”

“Please. I wouldn’t spoil this surprise if you paid me,” Tam checked her watch. “You’d better get changed and get going.”

Timi peered at Tam’s watch. “Whoops! Gotta run!”

She tore back to her office, hastily threw on leggings and a t-shirt, which were also mandated by Stephanie for some reason, and then headed for the plaza and the driver patiently waiting there in the frankly torturous midday heat.

“Bye Mr. Jhan,” Timi called to the man on the bench. “Be safe!”

The man waved back.

Timi wasn’t very surprised when she was dropped off in the Fashion District. In fact, she was dropped off at the Complex — Gotham’s biggest shopping centre. Four million square feet of commerce under glass.

She texted Steph once she got inside and the edge had been taken off the heat.

> _Here. East Entrance. LOCO?_

_> > Hold on. Babs is pinging your phone._

>> _800ft, then left. Keep going straight._

Timi went where she was instructed. Her phone pinged as she went.

_> > Warm_

_> > Warmer_

_> > Warmer_

Timi grinned.

_> > Warmest_

_> > Getting hot_

_> > Hotter_

_> > Oooh, steaming hot!_

_> > I’m talking about the weather. I have no idea where you’re going._

Timi burst out laughing.

_> Jerk!_

_> > You should be close to a blazing neon red sign. You can’t miss it. That’s our baby. C U soon :)_

Blazing neon red… ah, she spotted it. Stephanie hadn’t been kidding. _THE MERRY COSTUMER_ was pretty hard to miss.

Timi had the most awesome bad feeling about this.

She walked into the dark painted, neon lit shop, looked around, and died laughing.

A giant pizza slice waved at her. “You made it on time for once, babydoll.”

“Dick,” Timi choked out between great, heaving sobs of laughter. “What? I mean, what?”

“I _told_ you we were going shopping,” a slice of blueberry pie said smugly. “C’mon, hurry up, we’ve got to get you into yours. They’re still fitting Babs’ and Bruce is trying to coax Damian out.”

“I’m going to make you pay for this Brown,” a hotdog slouched against the wall, arms crossed. “You’ll never see me fucking coming. Ask Baby Bird, she knows.”

The pie flipped him off, totally unconcerned.

Still laughing, Timi blindly followed her into the back of the shop where she met Cass, who was adorable in her soft serve ice cream costume, complete with swirly peaked cap. “Oh my god, you’re completely crazy, Steph. You’re nuts and I love you to death for it.”

“Thank you,” Stephanie said cheerfully. “Go on, yours is all picked out.”

Timi was laughing too hard for dread. “Cass, tell me you got the camera.”

Cass triumphantly waved the camera.

“Awesome, see you in a minute.”

Her costume wasn’t too bad. It was easy to get on with one of the store workers assisting her.

She emerged from the changing room as a triumphant pink frosted cupcake with a cherry hat. Cass grinned and took photos.

“Hey guys!” Babs came out of the front, having finished custom fitting while they were all laughing. The drinking straw hat for the soda cup costume bobbed conspiratorially. “I think one of Bruce’s bribes landed. Damian’s about to show.”

They flocked to the front of the store to watch the big reveal.

It didn’t disappoint. Bruce emerged, looking like he was reconsidering his existence — or if not, definitely his decision to adopt — wearing a full, triple decker burger costume, his despairing head sticking up through the bun. Greeted with the sight of his progeny laughing at him uproariously, he gave in and struck a pose.

“ _Brown_! This whole farce is an affront to all dignity!” Damian yelled from the back.

“Come on, Dami,” Dick called encouragingly. “We’re all in this together. We promise we won’t laugh.”

“Speak for yourself, Dickiebird,” Jason smirked.

“Damian, come on,” Bruce added. “Remember, think of it as performance training.”

Silence. Then a sullen “Fine!”

Damian came out.

 _Don’t laugh._ Timi told herself. _Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh don’tlaugh…_

Jason had no such compunctions. He heaved out great cracking guffaws of mirth as a small serving of French fries skulked furiously into view.

“Oh my god, you look so cute!” Dick gushed. “Did someone bring a camera?”

“Drake, don’t you dare!”

“Okay,” Timi choked out. “I won’t.”

Cass obligingly took a shot.

Bruce put an arm around his youngest. “It’s not too bad, kiddo. Look, we’re a matched meal.”

Cass took another shot of father and son, which seemed to appease Damian slightly. He still glared bloody murder at Stephanie, who, as usual, was totally fearless.

“Hey, at least you’re vegan!” she pointed out cheerfully.

“What more hellish torture do you have planned for us, Brown?”

“Yeah, cause let me tell you, if we’re going outside in these, I’m out. It’s two thousand in the shade,” Jason pointed out.

“Don’t be silly,” Stephanie grinned, teeth showing. “We’re at the huge, air-conditioned Mall. Plenty to do at the mall. Got your cards B? Good, you’re gonna need ‘em.”

“You shall regret this, Brown!”

“Not a chance, small fry.”

Timi ended up having a delightful time trolling various shop assistants and patrons of the mall with Stephanie in the lead. From the fashion stores (“ _I’ll only wear cream,” Steph smirked. “I look good ala mode.” “Do my buns look big in this?” Jason asked a bewildered shop assistant at the formal menswear store_ ) to the sporting goods stores ( _“I think we’ll need something a bit meatier,” Bruce deadpanned to the guy selling weights_ ), to the computer store (“ _For obvious reasons I’ll need something with overclocked water cooling,” Babs told a tech support guy who literally almost cried)_ to the pavilion ( _“Have you heard about our lord and saviour, The Almighty Hut?” Dick randomly flagged down passersby_ ) to the food court.

“You can’t have a chilli dog,” Timi protested to Jason. “That’s _cannibalism_.”

“Number one, a chilli dog is _not_ a hot dog, okay?” Jason protested stridently while bemused patrons looked on. “There’s an entire spectrum of wiener cuisine and they do not occupy even remotely the same place. That’s like comparing spam to a wagyu beef steak. Number _two_ , I am not actually a hot dog. I am wearing the hide of a hot dog, one that I hunted, skinned, tanned and sewed myself. I am a hot dog serial killer, luring innocent hot dogs to their doom, lulling them into a false sense of security by taking their form, c.f. wolf in sheep’s clothing. _Three_ , Baby Bird, since when do I care about cultural taboos? What instance in your long history with me—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Damian snapped from over his falafel gyro. “Will you two just shut up and pick something?”

“I think he’s been in the fryer too long,” Timi deadpanned. “He seems a little overdone.”

“Shut up, Drake!”

Goodness knows what PR would make of the flood of images that would hit the internet today. There were an awful amount of camera phones going off.

Timi hadn’t checked her phone all afternoon. She had to trust that Tam would come through for her, but until she did there was nothing Timi could do but wait.

Mind you, when a bunch of thieves on mopeds decided to drive through the mall snatching purses and generally causing mayhem, Timi had other things to worry about. She felt immensely sorry for the poor police officer who had to write up the afternoon report afterwards.

_Six assailants on three moped-class vehicles (reg. at bottom of page, check with DMV) were pursued vigorously by a hot dog, a pizza, a blueberry pie, and a small serving of French fries while a burger, a cupcake and a soft serve ice cream took the travelator to try to get ahead of the perpetrators. One vehicle was stopped when the hot dog yanked one assailant — the passenger — off the offending vehicle (hereafter vehicle 1), threw him into the decorative fountain, then threw a chocolate dairy-based drink cup (large) at the head of the fleeing driver, causing him to brake due to poor visibility through his helmet. The blueberry pie then mounted vehicle 1 behind the driver, took control and drove it down an empty escalator, causing the driver severe bruising in the groinal region and a request for immediate euthanasia (see attached EMT report)._

_The second vehicle (hereafter vehicle 2) was stopped by the French fries jamming a broom handle with enviable precision through the front wheel spokes, immediately disabling said vehicle 2. The French fries then performed a citizen’s arrest on the mostly conscious driver while the pizza (NB, records, please check credentials listed below, pizza was an off duty officer) backflipped off a balcony to grab the passenger who had been thrown clean over the rail by the very vigorous braking. He caught vehicle 2 passenger one handed mid-descent and managed, with great dexterity, to grab the railing of the floor below with a free hand on the way past, before swinging both himself and the perpetrator to safety. The pizza then performed a lawful arrest (see attached report)._

_The third vehicle (hereafter vehicle 3) moved ahead of the others but the burger, cupcake and ice cream (NB, eyes-only: the burger’s identity was confirmed at the scene, name redacted by request, ask Cmsr Gordon for detailed report) were able to, with exceptionally fast sprinting, get ahead of them before they reached the exit. The burger then rendered vehicle 3 undrivable by the simple expedient of tackling it, using bulk and padding to protect himself. The soft serve ice cream and the cupcake then immobilised the driver and passenger of vehicle 3 with an arm twist-leg sweep combo and a flying kick to the head respectively. Knives were removed from the vicinity of both perpetrators (see attached evidence report)._

_Report was called in by a large soda (code 10-33-666 do NOT let Cmsr Gordon find out about this on the scanner, report maker is KNOWN to him)._

_The various foodstuffs were extremely cooperative when questioned. Please see attached statements._

It was, Timi decided, the best fun she’d had all week, although she freely admitted her standards were a bit weird.


	11. Cass' Day

_“Hey kid! Robin!”_

_Robin looked up. “Nightwing?”_

_“In the flesh!” Nightwing beamed. He was standing atop a water tank, looking lithe and dangerous. “How’s it shakin’, new bird?”_

_Robin grimaced. “Okay, I guess,” she offered. The night air was cool on the back of her neck and still felt strange._

_“I’m drowning in your enthusiasm,” Nightwing rolled his eyes. Then he flipped off the water tower and down in front of her with the ease and the glittering showmanship that had made him such a delight to photograph. “Whatcha doing?”_

_“I’m on geography tonight. Batman wants me to map my way back to the cave using the rooftops and tunnels, no grapple. I can’t get caught on camera, he said.”_

_“Oh yeah? Where’s he?”_

_“He had a bust to complete,” Robin tried to keep the pulsing knot of anxiety out of her tone. What if Batman was, at this very moment, losing what shaky control he had and beating some thug to death? She wouldn’t be there to stop him or call the police afterwards. It had seemed like such a simple solution when she’d forced her way into the armour, but on the ground it didn’t feel like she’d made much actual progress._

_“Oh,” Nightwing’s mouth twisted with disdain. “He’s being his usual sharing self, then.”_

_“You don’t come to the M— to home base very much,” Robin pointed out reasonably, keeping the desperation quiet. “You don’t take his calls. How would he share information with you?”_

_Nightwing’s face went slightly bitter. “B and I work better in masks than out of them these days.”_

_Robin hesitated, filled with a need to somehow fix the situation. “He’s not doing very well,” she confessed._

_“Ah, B gets broody sometimes,” Nightwing explained. “You probably shouldn’t get into the habit of reading something into it. That’s just how he is.”_

_“He still calls me Jason.” She dropped that between them like a lead weight. “He’s not doing well.” It felt like a pitifully inadequate way to convey to Nightwing that his former mentor was in a tailspin of self-destruction and self-loathing._

_Nightwing stared at her, then sighed. “I guess he’s not very much fun to be around right now.”_

_Robin thought of the man who would leave her bruised and bleeding on the mats, his face blank and cold, telling her she needed to do better if she hoped to be even slightly worthy of Robin, which she emphatically wasn’t. She’d taken a thousand pictures of the same man suffused with subtle but unmistakable warmth around his protégés; an emotion now consigned to an abyss so deep it was like it never existed. “I’m not here to have fun,” was what Robin said._

_“Oh, come on, you’ve got to have a little fun!” Nightwing wheedled, neatly redirecting the conversation away from Batman. “Besides, you’re doing the whole get-back-home thing_ all _wrong. Hasn’t B taken you train surfing yet?”_

_“What?” Robin blinked. “No?”_

_“Oh kid, you are missing out on one of the_ best _parts of wearing a cape. Climb on, I’m taking you to the tracks,” Nightwing turned his back and gestured._

_“No grapple,” Robin reminded him._

_“No grapple for_ you _,” Nightwing corrected. “B didn’t give me any rules and I wouldn’t follow ‘em anyway. Never did. Come on, we haven’t got all night.”_

_Dubious, Robin climbed up on the broad blue back. “Okay. Secure,” she told him._

_He hesitated. “Are you sure you’re on? Oh my god, you weigh about as much as a doll! Do you float when the armour is off? Blow away on light breezes maybe?”_

_Robin scowled. She was small, she knew it. Batman never ceased to remind her about her physical lack in his effort to make her quit. “I’m a healthy weight, thank you. Maybe your scale is all messed up because of your sugar intake.”_

_“Oooh, fighting words babydoll. Hang on tight!”_

_He leapt. As disloyal as it felt to Jason Todd to admit, no one flew quite like Dick Grayson._

_Train surfing, it turned out, was hair-raising, blood pumping madness._

_… and fun, Robin admitted. Once she’d gotten the hang of it._

*

The next morning Timi had breakfast with the family, the first time all week. She even got a little bit of a sleep in, because Cass’ thing was in the morning and she’d head to work in the afternoon.

“Jesus,” Jason groaned as he stumbled to the table. He’d spent the night. “It already feels like triple digits out there.”

“There’s a storm brewing up near the mountains,” Bruce explained over his paper. “It will hit late tomorrow, but until then it’s pushing all the heat ahead of it.”

“I know how to read a weather report, old man.”

“Late tomorrow?” Dick lifted his head from where he was nodding off over horrendous cereal. “Do you think it’ll interfere with paintball?”

“Fuck that,” Jason jabbed a fork at him. “Rain, hail or snow, we’re paintballing. Got the equipment lined up and everything,” he grinned meanly.

“Forget that,” Stephanie broke in. “Do you think it’ll interfere with Timi’s thing?” She was doing something on a tablet while Cass peered over her shoulder.

“Who cares,” Damian muttered over his veggie bakes.

“Dami!” Dick scolded.

“How the fuck would we know?” Jason snorted.

“That’s right! After all, it’s not like we know what it is,” Dick added artlessly.

Timi met the group stare around the kitchen with perfect composure. “Nope. Not telling.”

“But Tiiiiiiimmmmiiiii!”

“Grayson, try for dignity,” Damian rolled his eyes. “You won’t succeed, but _try_.”

“You know what that is, Replacement?” Jason smirked. “Codewords for ‘it’s lame’.

“It won’t be lame,” Stephanie defended. “Well, probably not. Sort of.”

“Thanks, Ruth Bader Ginsberg,” Timi muttered.

“You have to tell us _something_ ,” Dick whined as Damian facepalmed. “How will we know what to wear? Formal? Casual? Sporty?”

“Naked?” Jason suggested.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stephanie’s eyes gleamed. “ _Please_ tell me it’s naked. Jesus Christ, family nudie run all the way down Gotham Central. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“I will have Oracle bench you for a year,” Bruce warned her.

“Eh, been there, done that,” Jason sipped his orange juice.

“Yeah, it’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds,” Dick nodded sagely.

Damian spat out his juice in horror. There rest of them swivelled around to stare in perfect synchronisation.

“What? I lost a bet. I assume Jay did too.”

“ _You_ lost a bet, Dickiebird,” Jason grinned. “I’m just an asshole.”

Bruce was staring at the ceiling, looking like a man appealing to the heavens for respite.

“O-kay,” Timi declared after a minute’s silence. “I’m putting a pin in that so that we know where it is and can safely avoid it. Moving on. Alfred, there should be a package coming today. It’s quite big, but not heavy.”

“Very good, Miss Timi,” Alfred called from the kitchen counters, tuning past his butlery selective deafness with ease. “I shall avail myself of the dolly.”

“What is it? Is it for Extravaganza Day?” Dick asked eagerly.

“Really Dick,” Timi said loftily. “I get packages all the time.”

“It _is_ ,” Dick leaned for eagerly. “Give us a hint! Oooh, one of us should stay behind. I mean,” Dick added with false virtue. “It could be anything. It could be _dangerous_.”

Timi raised an eyebrow. “But you’ll miss Cass’ Day,” she said with false despair.

Cass, ever attuned to her Robin’s needs, turned a huge, pleading look on Dick, fists folded under her chin for maximum sad kitten effect.

Dick folded like Superman’s origami.

Besides, nobody wanted to miss Cass’ day; even Timi, who didn’t actually know what it was. Once Babs had shown up in the specially fitted van they all piled in, complaining loudly about the heat that boiled the air even on the short trip to the van. After that it was an hour’s drive away from Gotham, closer to the mountains where, as foretold by Bruce, wispy clouds were beginning to form.

They finally made it to their destination, and all piled out to look it over.

“This,” Timi declared, “is why Cass is the favourite.”

Three hours of massages, mud treatments, oils, waxes and salon experiences at the Bristol Hills Luxury Spa and Wellness Centre, nobody was in the mood to argue it. All of them were more than glad to slough of the grime of Gotham, even temporarily. Even Damian, who was protective of his personal space bubble, was availing himself of the facilities.

“Oh my god,” Stephanie moaned as she got a head massage. “Kill me now so I die this happy.”

“If you insist upon it, Brown,” Damian replied, but his tone was edgeless. He was in a lotus pose, taking some quiet time after his full body massage. “I would, however, prefer to make you suffer.”

“Damian,” Bruce mumbled from the massage chair. “No killing, no suffering. What’s got you upset?”

“Father,” Damian opened his dark eyes, annoyed. “She posted photos of us in those execrable costumes on the _internet_.” His tone was hilariously scandalous.

“Went viral too,” Steph added with no shame and complete satisfaction.

“Super viral,” Babs added absently as an attendant did her nails. “I had a devil of a time blurring and blocking Jason’s face,” she sent a look at Steph, who had the grace to look sheepish.

“Relax, Dami,” Dick assured him from where he was getting his nails painted. “It was hilarious and it’s good for our, you know, public image if we’re all seen out doing family stuff every once in a while. Goodness knows we never have the time, usually.”

“Or inclination,” Jason murmured, also getting a massage. In deference to his mass of scars, he’d left his tank top on. The attendants were used to this sort of thing. Even mafiosos needed relaxation and pampering from time to time and Bristol Hills was the premiere, exclusive spa of Gotham.

“It’s humiliating,” Damian muttered.

“Showing ourselves having fun makes us human,” Bruce told him gently. “Sometimes we need to remind the public of that.”

“Why couldn’t we have done my list, father? It would have been far more enjoyable than _that_.”

Timi looked over from where they were just finishing up her brief, ludicrously expensive hair styling. She’d done some of the treatments stripped down but had redressed in a power suit because she had to go back to work soon. She had just enough time for a mani-pedi before she left the others wallowing in patchouli scented luxury. “List? What do you mean, list?”

“Oh, ignore the little gremlin,” Steph waved a hand, the attendant patiently waiting to take it back.

“Yeah, he’s just throwing a tantrum because Dick and Bruce wouldn’t let him have the week all to himself,” Jason smirked as Damian bridled.

Babs looked up at that. “Really? Wait, I think I missed that argument. What happened?”

“Damian got a bit… confused,” Dick explained to her across the table.

“Confused, nothing,” Steph snorted. “Damian got it into his little gremlin head that Extravaganza Week was invented for him alone and didn’t take learning that we’d all had a go before him very well.”

“He had a list all ready to go,” Dick added ruefully. “And it was a good list!” he added to Damian’s betrayed glare. “He’d been saving up all the things he wanted to do and had a schedule and everything.”

“Oh kid,” Babs shook her head, smiling. “All your best laid plans gang aft agley, huh?”

“Well how was _I_ to know this ritual involved more than father, Grayson and I? My only sample of reference was the last two years,” Damian sounded aggrieved.

“And yet, despite getting _two whole years_ all to yourself, you’re still pissy about this,” Steph snorted. “Sharing is caring, demon brat. You might want to internalise that a little more.”

“I was sharing!” Damian protested. “I would share all of my activities with the rest of you,” he glowered. “However little some deserved it.”

“It’s okay, Damian,” Bruce said, smiling fondly. “It’s not like you and I don’t have the rest of the summer off. We can still do some of the things on your list. It’s a pretty good summer activity plan, actually.”

The rest of his children all pelted him with hand towels, jeering at him for favouritism and inability to say no. Timi, meanwhile, slid her spa-issued non-slip socks off and climbed into the massage chair next to a silently laughing Cass for her foot soak and massage.

“Oh miss,” the attendant fluttered anxiously when she saw. “Your feet are quite bad off.”

“Hm?” Bruce peeled hand towels off himself and looked down, since he was in the chair next to Cass. “Good god, baby, what happened to your _feet_?”

Timi had to admit the liberal smattering of raw patches didn’t exactly look healthy. “My feet swell with the heat, B.”

“Shoes too small,” Cass added succinctly.

“What? We were literally at the mall yesterday, why didn’t you get some new shoes?” Stephanie craned her head, trying to see the damage. “Shit, have they been like that all week? How can you walk?”

“It’s not too bad, it’s mostly on top,” Timi reassured them. “And I was going to but then, you know, _mopeds_. I guess since I was wearing my comfy shoes that day it kind of just slipped my mind after.”

“Typical Drake carelessness,” Damian sniffed.

“Watch it, Baby Bird,” Jason smirked. “If Alfie sees your feet like that, you’re benched.”

Timi grimaced. Alfred had a very former-British-soldier view of footcare. “It’s fine,” she tried to reassure Bruce’s frowning face. “I can wear them for short stretches, no problem. I kick them off when I’m in the office. And I’ll get new ones, I just haven’t had time this week.”

Bruce made a face. “I still don’t understand why you don’t wear your tennis shoes. They’re practical.”

Timi just managed to keep from rolling her eyes. “I get mistaken for an intern enough as it is Bruce. The clothes make the executive.”

“After,” Cass nodded. “Shoe shopping.”

“Ooooh, yes,” Steph nearly made a fist before remembering she was getting her nails done. “I need _all_ the shoes.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce cut in patiently. “As one who has spent money expanding your walk-in wardrobe, I assure you that you already have ‘all the shoes’.”

Babs burst out laughing. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say to a woman, Bruce. Besides, you big hypocrite, I’ve _seen_ your walk-in shoe rack.”

“Jesus,” Dick shuddered. “An entire wall of wingtips. I still have nightmares.”

“This from a man who willingly wears _crocs_ ,” Jason snorted. “Fuckin’ crocs, Dickie.”

“Hey, at least I have the good taste not to wear steel toed combat boots to a formal gala! They still had _blood_ on them, Jay!”

While they all descended into a full-on argument about footwear, Bruce was still frowning at Timi’s feet, currently being massaged by an attendant. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“I know,” Timi sighed quietly over an increasingly strident indictment versus defence of 70s era platforms. “Don’t worry. I’ll take them to the demolitions lab this weekend and turn them into little tiny, bespoke leather bits. I’ve been fantasising about it all week.”

Bruce’s lips twitched despite himself.

Timi finished her mani-pedi and then bid her siblings farewell while they were wagering with each other who could run the farthest in ten-inch stilettos. She emerged back into the Wayne Enterprises plaza salon fresh, nails glittering red and ready for combat. The smile on her face would have been eerily familiar to a number of former street thugs.

The air was on fire, especially in the plaza which was concrete on all sides and set upon by a wall of mirrors focusing even more sunlight onto it. Timi was faintly amazed that decorative trees in pots hadn’t dried up and burst into flames in this heat.

Timi looked around for Mr. Jhan, because today was not the day to sit in the plaza. Maybe she could invite him to sit in on the meeting. He might find it interesting and it would certainly get him out of the weather.

But when she looked at his usual spot he was nowhere in evidence.

There was something on the bench, though. Timi went over to check it out and realised it was a cellphone, tucked against the side of a pot. It was Mr. Jhan’s – she recognised it. Seeing nothing suspicious or potentially dangerous about it, she picked it up and escaped into the building, which was like stepping into an icebox after being in the plaza, and opened up the phone. She was amused to see that Mr. Jhan had been looking at Steph’s Instagram photos of their adventures at the mall, much like the rest of Gotham.

Turning the cellphone over in her hands, she went to the security desk. “Kayla, was Mr. Jhan in the plaza this morning?”

“The waiting dude? Yeah, he was there,” Kayla nodded. “He left about half an hour ago though. Can’t say I blame him, considering. It’s a pressure cooker out there. Why?”

“I think he might have forgotten his phone,” Timi waved it.

“You want me to take it?” Kayla offered. “He might come back for it.”

Timi shook her head. “No, that’s alright. I’ll be seeing him tomorrow morning anyway. I can give it to him then. If he does come back today, can you buzz me?”

“Sure thing.”

Timi went up to the executive suites. Despite her resolve, despite her seven other contingencies if this all went bad, despite her faultless faith in Tam, she still felt anxiety twisting her stomach into a hard knot. What happened at this meeting would be a pretty good indicator of just how deep the scars that Ra’s Al Ghul left on Wayne Enterprises ran. She’d hoped it had gotten better over the last year, but she wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure, until she saw what happened when their mettle was truly tested.

If she couldn’t get Wayne Enterprises to help Peakcod, if the culture itself had turned that bad, then there were a lot of dominoes that had the potential to fall.

“There you are!” Tam called when she hit the right floor. “I was worried you’d be late.”

“Sorry, traffic was packed,” Timi explained.

“Yeah, there’s been some kind of accident near the rails, as usual,” Tam nodded. “You ready? No time for a briefing.”

“I don’t know,” Timi faced her friend. “Are we ready?”

“I’ve directed them to head to the high media conference room. Tech support is ready to go.”

Timi felt a punch of relief all the way to her spine. “Tam, you get _all_ the raises. You are the _best_.”

Tam nodded with no false modesty. “I am.”

Timi lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders and moved to the conference room more like Red Robin than Bruce would likely consider safe. It did have the benefit of making her presence undeniable, which is why every head turned towards her went she strode into the room, Frederick and his little cabal smarming away in the corner.

“Miss Drake,” Frederick came forward civilly. “Good to see you. We were worried you wouldn’t make it!” His platitude was about as real as his hair.

She gave him a sharp, toothy smile. “I have far too much respect for you, Mr. Frederick, to stand you up. I’m not that sort of girl. Now, shall we get started?”

Frederick was a despicable old chauvinist, but some animal instinct must have flashed a warning in his hindbrain. He wasn’t stupid; he was savvy enough to recognise the difference between false confidence and the real, rock solid sort. A wary light came to his eyes as he watched her take a seat at the head of the table, shiny nails clasped and patiently waiting them out.

Mr. Frederick felt a wobbly little quake of uncertainty; a novel and rare occurrence for him.

Timi had had a long week. Anything she’d done with the family had been a blast, but the work week had been hell on wheels from start to finish. But if there was one thing Timi Drake had learned time and time again, it was that pain made the reward at the end all the sweeter.

You could have lined up every rogue in Gotham behind bars and it still wouldn’t have been as personally satisfying as the way the smug look on all those faces cracked when behind her screen after screen lit up with board member after board member, reminding them of just how small a minority the old money spinner cabal really was.

By the time greetings were exchanged and roll calls added to the record, a defeated pall hovered over Frederick and his friends.

“Now, we are here today to discuss the employees of Peakcod Ltd, a company recently acquired by WE with some rather knotty and despicable labour issues that need addressing,” Timi started, feeling elated. She was sorry she’d missed Mr. Jhan; he’d earned the right to see this for himself. “I’ll just give a brief history and then we’ll get down to voting….”


	12. Jason's Day

_“Titans, come to the briefing room. No exceptions.”_

_God, she hoped this worked. She set up her equipment as busywork in the meantime, because it would take them a little while to get here._

_It had been a lousy day. They’d failed a mission, and while it was more down to events going sideways in a way not even Batman could have predicted, the defeat had shown the cracks in their fragile, brand new team._

_Gar and Raven were old hands at this, but they were used to a different Robin’s fighting style and the awkward disconnect between them and the new Robin showed on the battlefield. Bart was new to the team and the biggest wild card, his inbuilt wariness and poor attention span grating against the other members. Cassie was perhaps the steadiest of them, but she was hyper aware of the shadow of the late Donna Troy, which occasionally stripped her of her confidence. Conner was a pulsing, crackling storm of power with the induced intelligence of an adult but the actual emotional experience of a very young child, a combination which sent him awry more often than not._

_And then there was her; expected to lead when she’d only ever followed, and perhaps the clumsiest of all of them when it came to forming connections with people her own age. Like Cassie, she stood under the shadow of giants — Dick Grayson and, yes, Jason Todd as well. A more dramatically different version of Robin they couldn’t have begun to imagine at the Tower._

_Timi never backed down from a challenge, though._

_Impulse was the first to arrive, forcing her to pin various sheets with her hands. “Hey, I made it. What’s up? Have the adults all called to yell at us? Are we grounded? Are we disbarred? Are we—”_

_“Yes, they called,” Timi was getting used to communicating with Bart. “No, they didn’t yell. No, we’re not grounded. No, we’re not disbarred, because that’s for lawyers. We’re not disbanded either, which is what I think you meant.”_

_“Cool. Coolcoolcoolcool, I thought might happen.”_

_“That’s good to know,” Cassie sidled into the room, unnoticed. “But what’s all this about, then?”_

_Conner stumped in behind her, looking nettled. Gar and Raven were behind him, so Timi suspected one or both of them had been responsible for cajoling him into the meeting room. Conner’s rebellions against authority were an emotional response they were still learning to work around. “So, what, are_ you _going to yell at us, then?” Conner asked snippily._

_“I thought since we had such a bad day we should take a moment to… relax a bit,” Timi essayed carefully, rolling dice in her hands. “Decompress with something_ not _life or death or beating each other in the gym. For once,” she added, almost thoughtful._

_Conner scowled like she’d insulted him personally._

_“Oh, hey!” Gar brightened when he saw the set up. “Dungeons and Dragons, awesome! Can I run and get my own character sheets?”_

_“You play?” Timi felt a faint stirring of hope that this long-odds gambit might work. “Did Nightwing—”_

_“Nah, he wasn’t the type,” Gar waved his green hands ruefully. “He was a snakes and ladders man.”_

_“And poker,” Raven settled at the table._

_“We do not mention that game in this house!” Gar yelled, making the others jump, before morphing into a cheetah and hightailing it from the room with a scrape of sliding claws._

_Raven shook her head. “Robin did play a little bit, though. He organised a tournament here once.”_

_The rest of the squad looked completely confused at this statement._

_“Robin did? She’s Robin!” Conner jabbed a finger at her almost accusingly. His face was contorted into the baffled scowl that he got when he ran up against facts and knowledge that his induced education never mentioned. “And what the heck is this Dungeons and Dragons thing?”_

_“It’s a game,” Cassie told him gently. “I don’t know how to play it, but I’ve heard of it.”_

_“And I meant the Robin before this Robin,” Raven’s mouth pursed. “There was one after Nightwing, before her.”_

_Timi, meanwhile, was gaping. Jason Todd —_ the _Jason Todd — played D &D? The unexpected validation hit her broadside._

_“Oooookay? What happened to him? Did he give up the mantle?” Bart was twitching, little sparks of Speed Force dancing around him._

_Timi felt a pang upon hearing this. There were so few in the Titans who had even known Jason Todd. Cyborg was with the Justice League for now and Donna Troy had died. Gar and Raven still remembered, but Jason’s time with the Titans had been fleeting at best. The others hadn’t even heard his name from their respective mentors._

_“In a way,” Timi replied, unwilling to bring the room down for a grief that could not be changed._

_Raven looked at her face. “I think it’s a great idea,” she nodded decisively. “We should have some fun after the day we’ve had.”_

_Conner big hands clenched. “It wasn’t our fault!”_

_“No,” Timi said calmly. “No one is saying it was. But we feel bad about it, so let’s do something enjoyable and harmless to make ourselves feel better.”_

_Conner’s hands slowly unclenched. The room surreptitiously breathed out. Anger was not an emotion anyone wanted to see on a being who could, literally, kill with a careless flick of a finger. Worse still, he didn’t even know his own strength properly. He’d never tested it out, made harmless mistakes little children make and then learn from. He was a terrifying cataclysm that was postponed by sheer luck._

_B worried about him being on the team, Timi knew. But Batman’s acceptance of Conner’s existence was helpful, far more helpful than anything Superman had done._

_Gar picked that moment to thunder back in, wearing a Viking hat he’d gotten from gods knew where and clutching a bunch of old scribbled on character sheets. “I found our old games!”_

_Raven shook her head. “Pack rat,” she murmured fondly._

_Timi sorted through the old sheets, surprised, elated and pained to see the spiky handwriting and spiky, enthralling prose of Jason Todd lamenting the lack of understanding of his fellow players regarding medieval historical fashions and field equipment._

_“Okay, first step is everybody makes a character,” she began for the benefit of those who didn’t know. “That’s the best part. You can become anyone you really want to be….”_

_It took a while for Bart to find his patience and Cassie to find her enthusiasm and Conner to find his trust. But slowly, carefully, guided by Timi who was in turn supported by Raven and Gar, they began to unwind as Timi’s short quest got underway._

_The lesson of Dungeons and Dragon was always that you could do everything right but still fail because of the roll of the dice._

_They’d done everything right today. They’d come together as a team — still with some rough spots, sure — but they’d moved as a unit and went for the win and failed miserably. Sometimes things go bad. Sometimes the wrong number comes up._

_Timi couldn’t force them to that conclusion, she knew. She could only hope that the lesson would internalise bit by bit the more they played._

*

The next morning was the worst yet. The clouds had left a muggy, awful haze over the city most of the night. Now, this morning, they were a Joker’s Promise; they seemingly offered respite and gave the opposite. Standing outside was like being wrapped in a boiling hot wet blanket.

Timi moaned quietly to herself as she shoved her poor feet into her atrocious heels. “You, me and the demolitions field,” she hissed to them quietly.

“Miss Timi,” Alfred smiled at her as he came into the kitchen. “I do hope you’ll be back for Master Jason’s Extravaganza Day.”

They’d decided, wisely, not to unleash Jason — or, let’s face it, Cass, Steph or Dick either — on some innocent paintball facility when the hedge maze and gardens on the Wayne Estate were the best combat field anyone could ask for.

“I should be back by lunchtime,” Timi assured him. “Just one more meeting and then I’m done.”

“Do you have any necessities or requests that I can provide to you for your day, Miss?”

There was a look on the butler’s face that could only be described as…dry.

She raised an eyebrow at him. He very delicately flicked his eyes towards the kitchen island.

Timi rolled her eyes. “No Alfred, I think I have everything well in hand.”

Then she lobbed half a peeled mango up and over the island to the other side where it landed with a satisfying squelch on whomever was hiding there.

“Babydoll!”

“Oh, gross!”

“Et tu, Steph?” Timi sighed fondly.

“Guilty,” Stephanie emerged, not looking it. “Dick talked me into it.”

“Uh, excuse me, but how was banging on my door at six am and saying ‘this is our chance to find out what T’s thing is’ _me_ talking _you_ into it?” Dick grumped as he rose, fresh juice staining one tank top clad shoulder.

“Good morning Master Dick, Miss Stephanie,” Alfred broke in imperturbably. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Cool, thanks Al,” Stephanie agreed hastily, not eager to continue that thread further. “Why are you going into work, anyway? You said your work thing was done!”

“Yeah,” Dick added plaintively. “Surely you can take a Friday off!”

“The main part is done,” Timi sighed. “I still have one more meeting and then I’m completely done and home free. I can’t skip it, it’s important,” she added to Dick’s opening mouth. “It’s fine. Jason said he wouldn’t be here until mid-morning with the paintball equipment, anyway, and you know Bruce will be safety checking it before he lets anyone use it. I’ll be back by lunchtime, I promise.”

“No offence T, but we’ve heard that a lot this week,” Stephanie pointed out. “You’ve gotta stop sometime or you’ll keel over. Don’t you dare tell me you won’t, either, because you’re talking to the person who generally scrapes your over caffeinated, insomniac ass off whatever floor you’ve collapsed on when you go off on one of your overworking jags.”

Timi scowled at her. It wasn’t that it wasn’t true, but she didn’t appreciate Stephanie announcing that in front of Dick, who didn’t know about most of them.

“Wait, is that an actual _thing_?” Dick replied in horror. “Does that happen to you a lot?”

“It has _happened_ ,” Timi replied defensively. “Not a lot!”

Stephanie coughed, sounding like ‘every. second. month.’ Timi glared at her.

“That’s it!” Dick pointed a finger at Timi. “I am declaring a moratorium on any more work this week! Call in sick!”

“Shan’t,” Timi replied calmly. “One more meeting; and this one will be a good one, Dick. I’ve earned a good one after this week. After that I’m off for the whole weekend. _Relax,_ Dick, you’re as bad as B!”

Dick was caught between his mother henning instinct and his natural horror of Bruce’s level of nosiness. Wearing the cowl for a time had done a number on his sensibilities regarding privacy. “Fine. But you’d better be here for paintball,” Dick ordered sternly. “It’s Jason’s Day and he hasn’t had one with the family for a while.”

“I’ll be there,” Timi nodded staunchly. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

There was a beep from the driveway. The car service had come.

“Instead of trying to spy on my thing, you might want to start drawing up tactical plans,” Timi suggested to the pair as they took their breakfast from Alfred. “If Bruce doesn’t somehow turn this into a training exercise, I’d be _very_ surprised.”

She left them chewing on that with horror as she ran out the door, silently laughing to herself at the appalled expressions on both their faces.

She took off her shoes for a brief respite in the car but had to shove her poor feet back into them at the plaza. At least the sun wasn’t beating down; the clouds above boiled in the air, but they were getting greyer. Once the winds picked up it would turn into a proper thunderstorm tonight. At least the heatwave’s back would be broken, although that would mean more to do on patrol tonight. Heat drove people crazy, but they tended to stay indoors. The respite would let the crazy out onto the streets.

There was no respite yet, however. The heat was squeezing out one last day of cruelty before it gave in.

Timi was greeted by an intern she didn’t know very well at the executive suite, which gave her a moment’s pause before she remembered she’d given Tam the day off. She directed the woman to take her calls and let her know when their guests from Peakcod Ltd arrived so they could start the meeting.

She spent the rest of the early morning time dismantling the reams of paper on her meeting table and attacking her inbox. Frederick and the rest of his cronies were conspicuously silent and hadn’t asked to join the meeting with Peakcod, which was probably for the best.

Eventually, the intern came back in and announced that a huge flock of people had shown up at the requested time and that they were being shown into the large conference room. Timi scooped up the three-foot stack of information packets, receipts and contracts that Tam had thoughtfully organised for her last night and headed down to the room.

The atmosphere was less fraught in the room than it had been a week ago. Timi and Tam had both had interns dialling all yesterday afternoon once the meeting was complete to tell the affected workers that there had been a resolution and that they would be getting funds. Because how much depended on each worker, they couldn’t give them amounts until today.

It was easy to take money off someone, but surprisingly difficult to give it away without showing your receipts. Timi made a brief announcement to a relieved and cheering room but had to meet each worker individually to make sure they understood what they were getting and why. Even the lowest casual employee had been granted a payback far beyond what they had initially asked for, so Timi doubted there would be any complaints.

Still, Timi could see the toll the months of uncertainty and poverty had taken on these people. There were plenty of red eyes and deep scored lines across faces she was willing to bet hadn’t been there even six months ago. She could see scores of bitten to the quick nails, lank and unwashed hair, twitches and tics, bags under eyes — a hundred thousand different signs of depression and anxiety to a good detective. Even clearly monumentally relieved at finally getting what they’d asked for, Timi could see the worried and fearful look in their eyes. It would take a long time for that stress to fade, and they would carry the scar wherever they went.

Ms. Sharpe was there, and while it couldn’t be denied there was a faintly smug air about her as she walked client after client through the legal documents they’d have to sign to get the funds released, the woman mostly looked tired. Timi doubted she’d ever be able to convince her that her little press stunt hadn’t helped in the slightest, but that was the conceit of a born and bred Gothamite — trust in the system was a shaky proposition at best.

“I have to hand it to you, Ms. Drake-Wayne,” Ms Sharpe admitted at the end of it. “You did what you promised you’d do.”

Timi nodded. “I generally do, Ms. Sharpe. Oh, before I forget,” she patted her jacket pocket, feeling the lump of an unfamiliar cellphone in the breast. “Where’s Mr. Jhan? I haven’t seen him and,” she sorted through a couple of remaining folders of the very few absentees. “He hasn’t collected his packet yet.” She knew about the other absentees; Ms. Sharpe had offered to handle those because the affected workers were now working out of state or out of the country. But Mr. Jhan should have been here. “I was looking forward to giving it to him in person.”

Ms. Sharpe jerked in surprise, the first time Timi had seen her less than poised. “ _Shit_ ,” she swore, equally shocking. “No one told you.”

The problem with being a trained detective was there were no false hopes, no respite from harsh and bitter truths. Timi looked at the sadness and anger and grief passing through the tiny muscles at the edges of the woman’s lips and eyes and felt her heart plummet twenty stories to the floor. “Tell me what?”

Her assigned intern burst into the room. “Miss Drake-Wayne, there are press gathering in the plaza. Security won’t let them in the building, but they won’t leave!”

Timi held up a hand. “Just a moment.” She turned back to the lawyer. “Tell me _what_?”


	13. All The Lost Days

_Timi took a deep breath, braced, and opened the door. The house was dark and quiet._

_Timi carefully cat footed in, making about as much noise as a breeze. It was ridiculous to fall back on stealth training in her own home, but she didn’t want any more confrontations tonight._

_She and her father had had a fight._

_Timi didn’t really remember where it started, exactly. It was a subtle build up, like a storm in the air, weeks upon weeks of little stresses and irritations building to a thunderhead above them. She guessed that in terms of the actual yelling part of the fight, it came down to money. It usually did these days._

_Jack had wanted to go to some conference in Switzerland, but he kept forgetting they didn’t have unlimited funds anymore. Timi had hastily cancelled the tickets when she’d found out, which led to Jack snapping that she didn’t run the household and Timi to snapping back that, considering how she was the one who actually knew that they could barely afford water and power this month, she kind of did. Then it was one savage complaint after another, the laundry list of grievances that had inevitably piled up, until she’d thrown her hands up and stalked into the living room, yelling at him to do as he pleased._

_She’d thought the argument was over and had sat down to watch the news; one of her few, microscopic windows into the goings-on in Gotham since she’d reluctantly hung up the cape. She’d gotten so caught up in analysing a hostage situation downtown that she hadn’t even noticed Jack coming in and trying to talk to her._

_She sure had noticed when he’d ripped the entire TV out of the wall, screaming at her to ‘STOP DISRESPECTING ME’._

_Timi had stared at her father, heaving and red faced in the prison of his wheelchair, and had wordlessly left the house._

_So here she was, creeping around like an assassin, desperate to avoid another fight._

_A wet growl shattered her night senses, making her freeze and immediately check her sightlines. Then her common sense kicked in and she relaxed. She need not have crept; she could have stomped in like an elephant. Jack Drake was sacked out in the hallway, still in his chair, snoring with his head dropped against his chest._

_There was a string of drool coming out of the side of his mouth that was permanently turned downwards these days._

_Timi felt a sudden wrench to see her father like this. Jake Drake had been a physically capable man in his prime, strong and confident in his body. He’d been a forder of rivers, climber of obscure cliffs, a lost cave diver, a mountain conqueror. Jake Drake hadn’t found his passions in quiet museums. He’d been an adventurer seeking the truths left written in hidden, remote places._

_Now he had become a metaphor for the very ruins he’d studied. A once mighty structure being broken and ravaged by time and neglect and thievery. Legs that had crossed every imaginable landscape now couldn’t even cross a small room. Long hands once used to delicately brush the taint of history off ancient artwork now shook and couldn’t grip tools or even pens. A mind of such dazzling perfect recall now potholed with blank spaces and shackled by aphasia and sudden, uncontrollable mood swings, because the worst damage a coma does is always to the brain._

_Jack Drake may have, rarely, yelled when angry once upon a time, but he’d never ripped an entire big screen TV out of its bracket in a blind rage. That hadn’t been his nature. Worse still, he knew it; but he couldn’t control what his broken mind did anymore. He was lucky to even be cognitive in a meaningful sense._

_He was lucky to be alive._

_Timi quietly turned his chair, feeling shame claw at her insides as he never even stirred at the movement. She rolled him into the living room. The broken TV still lay in shattered pieces all over the floor, but her keen eye noted that Jack had at least tried to pick up some of it. He’d probably given up in frustration. It wasn’t a very welcoming room at the moment, but this was where they kept the spare CPAP machine on nights Jack couldn’t stand to be horizontal in bed._

_Jack was so out of it that he didn’t stir when she hooked him up to the machine and turned it on, wiped away the drool, put on his special blood-clot prevention hosiery, or checked that his adult diaper was dry. Timi noted dully that he hadn’t taken his meds, so she calmly and competently set up an anti-seizure IV for him as well as if she’d done it a hundred times. She had._

_She got out her big laptop and put on_ Godzilla _, leaving it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then, placing the chair just so and making sure all lines and tubes were set up just right, Timi bent at the knees, got her sinewy arms around her father, and lifted him up off the chair and onto the sofa. The man had lost some mass, but he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. Nevertheless, she did it smoothly and easily as if she’d done it a hundred times. She had._

_It wasn’t too bad, Timi thought as she arranged him comfortably, arms trembling with strain. If she could drag Batman in full armour two hundred yards without stopping, her father’s weight was no great test of her strength._

_After she’d settled him to her satisfaction, Timi felt a dull thought pass through her head: would she be able to drag Batman two hundred yards_ now _? She clenched her fists and tried to ignore it, turning to see to the wreck of the television. But as she worked, the thought haunted her._

_She could once upon a time look at a street and know which criminal thought they owned it, what turf wars were likely to start on it and the height and hand holds of every building on it, Timi thought helplessly as she picked up broken components. She would have had contacts on it, maybe, or could find someone who knew someone who knew where some obscure specialist lived or where esoteric knowledge or an elusive criminal could be found. She would know if she needed a three/eight jimmy or one of the blasting wedges to get into the sewers or the steam pipes of any of the manhole covers there, and where those tunnels led._

_But even a few months out of the game and all that knowledge would be obsolete now. Gotham was a living, breathing entity. It moved and grew and changed, forever in a cycle of destruction and reconstruction. You had to be there, night after night, to map its tides with any hope of accuracy._

_Timi heaved the television up in her arms. It was nearly as big as she was and by the time she hit the back door, her shoulders were promising retribution for days on end. She didn’t care. The brief, physical strain blocked out the horrible restlessness which boiled inside at nights and left her sleeplessly staring at walls. It had been hard to become Robin, but it was even harder to stop. She felt all her hard-won competence draining out like blood from an artery, trapped in the meaningless drudgery of school and her father’s care._

_A bolt of rage made her throw the television across the back porch, where it landed with an earth-shattering crash at the far end of it, now well past even her skills to fix._

_Timi was shocked to realise just how much she hated this. She hated being here, she hated having the whole night to herself seven nights a week, she hated watching on the news or the internet, knowing,_ knowing _in her bones what they_ should _do and bitterly knowing that they wouldn’t._

_She hated waiting for the call, knowing it wouldn’t come._

_The door behind her was open, inviting her back into the pitch gloom of its emptiness. It was too large for just the two of them, and some days not nearly big enough._

_Dejected, she went back in._

_She grabbed the dustpan and broom set from the kitchen and set about sweeping up as many shards as she could. A proper vacuum would be needed to get all of them, but she’d have to do that tomorrow._

_She had nearly finished when she looked up and jerked in surprise. Jack was watching her silently through his face mask. His shoulders were slumped down and his eyes looked sad. He lifted a hand, but it trembled so badly he put it back down again, a flash of frustration twisting his face._

_Timi was never more aware in that moment that she was indeed Jack Drake’s daughter. His face, twitching in the agony of the prison of his idle body, looked exactly how she felt._

_They were both in ruins, trapped underground and feeling the decay creeping in, day after day._

_“Do you want me to turn the volume up?” she offered quietly._

_His eyes flicked to the movie, still storming away in the background, blue light of the screen cutting through the dark. He nodded._

_She left him to watch it while she disposed of the remnants and got herself a water and him some water in a straw cup in case he wanted any. Then she went back into the living room and sat down on the sofa, watching her favourite rubber suit monster stumble clumsily through the city like it wished it could be anywhere else, too._

_“Timi,” Jack breathed out. It had taken coma and a stroke, but he’d finally started calling her by her name. “You know… I’d never… hurt… you…. Right?” he wheezed out between breaths._

_Timi turned to look at him. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she replied with absolute sincerity, even if she wasn’t answering the question he thought she was answering. Yes, he wouldn’t hurt her because she could move faster, think quicker and hurt him a lot worse if she ever snapped._

_The restlessness scared her sometimes._

_Jack relaxed, apparently willing to take that at face value. After several minutes of quiet movie watching, Timi felt one of her father’s cool, paper-dry hands nudging hers on the couch. She obligingly took it and squeezed it. “You know,” Timi said after a while. “If you asked Dana on a date, I don’t think she’d say no.”_

_Her father’s eyes bulged and he blasted out a breath that turned his facemask completely opaque, a high, thin, whistling wheeze leaking out of the edges. On screen, the monster gave an answering roar like Jack had just challenged him, which was unexpectedly very funny._

_“Sorry,” Timi wiped tears of laughter from her eyes while her father stared at her, coughing occasionally. “Sorry. You sounded like Godzilla on helium. Oh, the Dana thing,” Timi realized when her father’s eyebrows rose up, one hand waving with urgency. “I hate to tell you this, but, um, it’s kinda obvious you’re, you know, attracted to one another.”_

_Jack looked embarrassed. “Your mother…” he whispered._

_“Is long gone,” Timi cut in firmly. “It’s sad, but she’s been gone for a while and your relationship with her wasn’t the best before she died.” Jack looked shocked to hear this from her. “Sorry, but the old apartment wasn’t soundproof. When you and Mother started screaming at each other, I could hear every word. It’s fine,” she assured him as he started to look even more pained. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. It might be time to move on. I think Mother would have been the first person to say it would be illogical to deny yourself for the sake of a memory you’d never get again, wouldn’t she?”_

_Jack was starting to look thoughtful, which was good._

_“It’s up to you,” Timi shrugged. “I won’t nag you about it or anything. I just think you should do it if it will make you happy.”_

_Jack watched her for a while, then nodded._

_“What about… you?” Jack asked softly. “What makes…you happy?”_

_Timi thought about it for a while. “I’m happy when I’m useful,” she replied eventually._

_It was the only thing she could say that could remotely claim the dignity of truth._

_Jack watched for a while, seemingly going back into a doze before slurring out unexpectedly. “Th’ pian-o. We should… tune it.”_

_Timi didn’t look away from the screen. “It’s got a broken string,” she cautioned._

_“We can… repair,” Jack insisted. “We have the money…for that. Right?”_

_The curl of the question at the end softened her a bit. “Yeah, we can swing that.”_

_Jack squeezed her hand. They settled in to watch the end of the movie._

_Sometimes Jack would try another Godzilla-on-helium roar, which was such a dad joke that she had to laugh._

_Who knows about tomorrow night, but for now the restlessness was blissfully quiet._

*

It was almost hour three in the plaza when Timi got the message, her head starting to pound and the reporters seemingly legion despite the boiling air of the plaza. Frederick had certainly played his spiteful little hand by calling them in like this and leaving her out in the heat to flail.

Her phone _shrilled_. Timi felt her body chill about a thousand degrees when she glanced at the code that was flashing on the suddenly red screen sitting on the podium. The numbers were innocuous. The meaning wasn’t.

_Attack. Manor. All Hands Immediate Assist._

“I’m sorry,” Timi’s voice cut through the questions like a blade. “That’s all the questions that will be answered today. Please contact the Public Relations office with any further requests.”

Then she turned and walked off the podium, out of the plaza and back into the building while reporters either gaped or shouted more questions at her back.

She met her assigned intern in the lobby. The woman looked flustered. “Miss, are you sure—”

“I’m leaving for today,” Timi’s voice was so cold and forceful, everyone in the lobby turned upon hearing it. “I won’t be back. If there’s an emergency, you have the contact lists on hand. Use them. Don’t call me, I won’t be reachable. Understood?”

“But, M-miss,”

“ _Understood_.”

“Yes, Miss!”

“Miss Drake-Wayne?” Kayla called from the desk bravely. “Would you like me to call the car service around?”

“No. I’ll go myself.”

Timi grabbed her bag and jacket from the intern’s nervous fingers, then turned for the elevator, heels clicking sharply and people scattering out of her way. On her way down to the basement fleet garage, she hit an emergency protocol which added a bunch of records and fake footage to the system, disabling a line of cameras as well.

Once the doors of the elevator opened, Timi _ran_.

She sprinted from the door, past row after row of identical silver sedans to one on the end which seemed slightly shabbier, like the livery service never really got around to polishing it. She unlocked it with a wave of her phone, got the key from its hidden compartment, and pressed her thumb to the GPS screen while she turned the ignition. The car lit up.

She slammed the accelerator, took a sharp left out of the parking space and headed for the back wall at breakneck speed. The wall slid open with seconds to spare and she entered the secret exit from the building and into the gloom beyond.

She hit her phone screen hard. “Oracle, sitrep,” and stepped on the gas. The tunnel was narrow, but straight. “Oracle!” she snapped. Nothing.

_Babs was up at the Manor with the rest of them_ , Timi shook her head. If events were bad enough, she either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. But if she’d gotten _that_ code out to Timi, then Timi had to assume she’d gotten others out.

There would be more help coming; she was just the closest.

She didn’t think about Alfred hopefully getting to his panic room. Didn’t think about the havoc a determined enemy could wreak at the Manor, even with every failsafe in the world in place. The Manor was their safe place; even Jason would come there if the world started to end. They defended it. It was their way.

The road started to curve upwards; she was running out of the tunnel. The tunnel cut under the Diamond District, the Finger River, and Robinson Park, but it wouldn’t get her past the Sprang. The tunnel emerged into the light of a tricky, secret underpass that let her merge with traffic on the bypass across Arkham, each lane convinced she’d come from the other. She hit the road under sky going top speed, ducking and dodging ever-present traffic, across the bridge over the tip of Arkham and blitzing into Burnley. Timi was barely cognizant of flashing lights starting up behind her; they were not even remotely part of her concerns. Her reflexes were fully engaged in pushing every single mile out of the car that she could.

It worked; she left the lights behind. Burnley flashed by in a blur, and when the T-junction loomed ahead to make room for the Botanical Gardens, Timi gunned it and kept going straight. There was a parking garage sitting there, though the entrances were on a different side.

No matter. She hit a button on the GPS screen as she jumped the curb and went off the road, over the embankment and onto the rim of concrete surrounding the garage, and a part of the wall of the seemingly impenetrable concrete block slid open and let her pass.

She changed gears grimly, and gunned it again, heading in a straight line down past parked cars to the other end of the garage where, once again, the walls slid aside and let her pass right onto the railway tracks behind them.

She killed the lights, activated infrared and kept going. Who knew what the people on the two platforms she would flash by would think of a battered silver sedan flying past them while they were waiting for the 4:01 to Otisburg. The face of the train driver of the express she dodged by going onto the opposite track was a portrait of disbelief, there and gone in an instant. She knew for a fact that he never saw her.

Once she was close to the junction near Amusement Mile, she slowed and turned into an old, unused rib track splitting off the main line, where even the railway maintenance workers didn’t go anymore. She followed along it until she hit the underground railroad tubes that undercut Gotham River and would take her clean into Bristol.

Ten minutes to cross Gotham; people always wondered how Batman managed it, as if Gotham itself wasn’t built of hidden, forgotten roads.

Ten minutes was a long time. Timi’s heart was pounding in her chest as she hit daylight again, coming out of the side of a hillock, across the empty border road along the river then up the county road, going north as fast as she could.

She couldn’t assume that security hadn’t been compromised and that the very systems designed to protect the Manor weren’t being used to watch the road for approaching relief. She had to grit her teeth and take the longer way, around the back of the Manor grounds, where no one would be expecting an approach.

Luckily, she knew the area.

The gates of the old Drake Estate had been chained shut since her father’s death. It had been sold, but despite never being able to prove it after forensic examination of brokerage houses and deeds, Timi was certain Bruce had somehow bought it. For what, she couldn’t fathom. She certainly didn’t want it or need it. All she knew was the most prime piece of real estate in Gotham aside from the Manor itself had sat empty for years and was still empty now.

The sedan rammed past the gates, tearing them off their hinges and shattering the windshield, but the car soldiered on past the house and into the grounds, cutting long furrows in the overgrown turf. Eventually Timi had to brake or hit the thick, high, stone back wall that cut the Drake Estate off from the Manor itself.

She killed the car, grabbed her bag, ripped the bottom out of it and drew out her collapsible staff. She grabbed her phone and a random stapler that had ended up in her bag somehow that she’d never had the time to discard. She only paused long enough to button the jacket up tightly, feeling the weight of miscellaneous goods stored in the pockets pressing to her skin.

_Go in with_ every _advantage you can possibly get_ , Bruce had taught her. _Any shoes are better than bare feet. Any extra layer is better than none. You don’t know what will protect you, what could soften a blow or be used as a bandage. Take everything, no matter how ridiculous. Anything you can turn on an enemy is a weapon. Every weapon is an advantage._

She scaled the wall like a mountain goat. This had been her climbing wall when B was still teaching her. Day after day she’d practiced on it, trying to improve. She was at the top and over in a heartbeat, and one quick scan revealed no immediate enemies.

She had to be fast. Fast enough to fool surveillance. She switched her phone to battle mode for whatever good it would do and started a mile and a half sprint towards the hedge maze; one of the only places not covered extensively by the security net. It was hard to secure a place that was constantly growing and changing. Breathing hard, she reached the green edge of it and shimmied underneath one corner of it, her hair yanked loose from its updo and dead twigs and leaf matter scraping along her legs.

Now she was in a walled corridor of green. Tactically not the safest, but this was the only approach that would get her near the Manor with any reasonable amount of stealth. She started to jog, drawing out her phone and the stapler as she did so.

She met her first assailant three turns in. She’d hoped to get closer, but she had to take what she could get. She coldly noted the green camo gear and big combat boots under the line of the hedges. If she turned the next blind corner he’d be there, waiting in ambush. She’d been right; they had access to the surveillance systems — or some of them, at least.

She gamely calculated his size and position based on his boots and struck.

Whatever the enemy was expecting, it certainly wasn’t Timi punching through the wall of green separating them and pressing three quick staples in rapid succession into the fleshy bit behind his ear. As he howled as he unexpected pain, Timi clawed up and over the wall of green, landing on him with a flying leap, kicking him somewhere in his masked head and then fleeing. They were armoured, she noted. The gun make was one she didn’t know. Trying to disarm or render them unconscious would be a huge risk in her current state. Stealth and speed were her only advantages; she’d have a lot more if she could get to the Manor.

As she pelted down the line of the maze to get around the next corner, she heard a muffled sound go off behind her. Something stung across her right shoulder blade but she kept going, kept moving. As long as nothing hit a fatal artery, you could go a surprisingly long way with a bullet wound.

She didn’t even pause in her headlong run as the maze wall to her right shook ominously. She ducked and rolled as another assailant came over the top of the wall, gun firing down on her as she dropped. She thrust up her arm as this one came down, phone sticking out, and hit the taser charge. The phone bricked but the charge did its job; the assailant went from a graceful leap to an ungainly landing, rolling to a stop and twitching slightly. Timi was up and moving before he’d even come to a stop.

She could hear them all moving now, running, shouts echoing up through the maze, but Timi’s focus was getting to the Manor. All extraneous details were sloughed away as her brain went mission focused. She mapped her way through the maze with the exacting precision of a war game veteran.

She met the next ones as a pair, coming around a blind corner. One leapt over the hedge maze and at her in an impressive physical display, but the gun that pointed at Timi met the business end of her collapsible staff and was knocked clean out of the assailant’s hands. The partner at the end of the row opened fire, hitting both Timi and her attacker, but Timi darted up one green wall and was over in a heartbeat, praying the lines of green would be enough.

She’d been hit. More than once. Her only objective now was to get to the Manor before her body gave up. That was her only chance.

She gave up on taking the maze and forced herself to steeplechase over the green walls, seeing the Manor inch closer and closer as she did so.

Someone was following her over them.

Another assailant, geared up and masked. He had a gun, but it was strapped to his back as he followed her route up and over each wall. He was _fast_ , faster at the leap and climb than her, but she had a head start. She gritted her teeth and kept going as hard as she could push herself.

Nearly there! She broke free of the maze and leapt for her final destination, a comparatively short sprint that she would have made had she not run headlong into _Bruce_.

And it was Bruce. Polo shirted, khaki clad Bruce, looking startled as she crashed into him. Painfully, because crashing into Bruce was kind of like hitting a wall.

“Whoa!” Bruce grabbed her by the shoulders as she tried to correct. “Timi! What is it?”

“Bruce!” Timi was shocked, but heard running footsteps behind her. Making a lightning fast decision, Timi swept his legs out from under him just as the assailant rounded the corner firing and turned to defend him with her body, feeling the slugs strike her chest and face. Dimly in her rapidly scattering thoughts she wondered if it would kill her, or if she’d wind up like her father, trapped in a damaged mind and idle body. She’d prefer death, given the choice.

There was a silent, frozen moment before her assailant burst into laughter.

Very _familiar_ laughter.

“Oh my god,” Dick crowed, tearing off his facemask. “That was the best one yet!”

“Dick? What?” Timi croaked, slowly lowering her crossed arms.

“You might not be dressed for it, but you sure can _move,_ babydoll!” Dick was still laughing uproariously.

In fact, they all were. They were emerging from the hedge maze, unmasking and grinning, bearing paintball guns and corresponding splatters of war.

Now that Timi had a chance to actually look at herself, so was she. Paint of every shade was now painted across her work clothes and, she poked it, her hair too.

“What is going on here? The rules said we use the paintball guns responsibly. Timi wasn’t wearing armour,” Bruce said sternly.

“Relax, old man,” Jason snorted and shot Damian in the temple. “Half loads. These things couldn’t hurt a fly. Or a gremlin,” he smirked down at a furious, red splattered Damian, who obligingly turned around and painted his entire face in green.

“I thought there was an attack!” Timi said in disbelief as the adrenaline crash started to hit. “I got a code!”

“Uh, that was me!” Babs called over from where she was stationed at what looked like the drinks table, with a laptop. “Sorry kiddo, Dick might have blackmailed me into it.”

“You’re looking a bit red, there, T,” Steph grinned. “You okay?”

“ _What the HELL did you think you were doing_?” Timi roared, anger and embarrassment hitting her in equal amounts. “Those codes are for emergencies only! I was at work!”

“Yeah, you always are. Lighten up, it was just a prank,” Stephanie cajoled gently. “You’ve pulled a few doozies in your time. Besides, you should be thanking us. We got you _out_ of work, so now you can come and have fun!”

“Fun? She _tasered_ me!” Damian complained. “She didn’t even have the wit to realise it wasn’t an attack!”

Timi went even redder. She prided herself on seeing things that other people didn’t. Hindsight was showing her just how obvious it was that the whole thing had been hinky.

“You think you got problems? She nailed me with a fucking stapler!” Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re pretty vicious, Baby Bird. Drew blood and everything.”

“Why would you even _do_ this?” Timi was really feeling the crash now. Her feet were on fire and her head was pounding but her heart was humming away. She felt dizzy and sick, which just made her angrier.

Cass at least looked sympathetic. “Dick’s idea.”

“You promised you’d be here,” Dick explained. “You promised, babydoll, and then you never showed. You never even called in. And to be fair, I warned you my vengeance would be swift and terrible.” Dick looked like he was trying to laugh it off, but it was clear her no-show had hurt him. He had been really invested in Jason’s day in particular.

“Something came up,” Timi mumbled guiltily, then her expression changed. She began frantically patting her coat.

“Yeah, I bet,” Dick smiled at her gently. “But that’s the problem, T. There’s always something. You never prioritize fun. It’s my duty as a big brother to help you out here. Come on, admit it. Wasn’t it a least a little fun? You got to kick most of our asses pretty thoroughly!”

“She’s right, Dick,” Bruce’s voice was stern. “Those codes aren’t for pranks. They shouldn’t be used for anything but the situation that requires them. How can we trust them otherwise?”

Dick threw up his hands. “Oh my god, not you too!”

“Like you haven’t pulled a fake code to test us in the past, old man,” Jason snorted.

“Oh my god,” Stephanie broke in. “I just figured out the problem. You taught Timi to be too much like _you_ ,” she pointed an accusing finger at Bruce. “No fun, just problems to be solved.”

“Drake is nothing like father,” Damian sniffed. “Father wouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious ploy.”

“You know what? I think blondie might be onto something there,” Jason mused. “I mean, they both have no sense of humour, they both act like fun is some kind of disease that they have to vaccinate for…”

“Timi has humour!” Cass defended.

“She does,” Babs agreed thoughtfully. “But they’re also right. She doesn’t exactly go out of her way just for amusement. Come on, kiddo,” she encouraged a silent Timi. “There’s nothing wrong with being a kid every once in a while, surely?”

Timi was staring at Mr. Jhan’s phone. It had been in her breast pocket. The screen was now cracked. “Fine,” she said, her voice expressionless. “Ha ha ha, you’ve had your fun, joke’s on me. I’m going inside.” She turned to stalk away.

“Timi,” Dick chased after her and grabbed her. “Don’t be like that, come on. It was just a prank!”

“Please just let me go inside, Dick,” Timi replied, hanging on to whatever scraps of composure she could. “I’m sorry I never showed, okay? Something came up, I had to deal with it. I have a headache; I don’t really feel like any more fun today.”

“But it’s Extravaganza Week,” Dick insisted. “It’s _family time_. Who knows if we’ll get to do this all together next year, or any other year? Come on, I know you’re, like, the Anti-Fun, but can’t you just try, just for me? _Work_ with me here. I’m sorry I scared you,” he added contritely. “I’m sorry about your jacket. I’ll pay for a new one, how about that?”

“Uh, Dick?” Babs raised an eyebrow. “That thing is like eight hundred dollars. Before tailoring,” she added to Dick’s horrified look.

“Oh. Uh, do you take instalments, babydoll?” he hammed it up while the others all laughed.

Timi’s head was actively trying to kill her. “Dick, please just let me go inside,” she pleaded.

“What _have_ you got against having fun, babydoll? I’ve never seen anybody actively fight fun before,” Dick shook his head in disbelief. “I’m beginning to think Jason was right, you really did do nothing but cold cases for your Extravaganza Week!”

“Hey, I never said that!” Jason protested, smirking. “Steph said that. I said she watched paint dry.”

“Or looked at numbers in a dark room,” Damian grumbled, rubbing at red coloured sweat rivers on his forehead.” He looked back at Timi, and an odd, thoughtful frown crossed over his face.

Timi’s face was hidden by the matted curtain of her hair, otherwise she would have seen Bruce’s expression change as it finally occurred to him where his daughter’s odd reticence regarding Extravaganza Week was coming from. “Dick,” he started, his voice odd.

Cass head jerked up at the tone. She stared at Bruce, then Timi, then back at Bruce again, sudden worry storming across her face.

“Come on, Timi,” Dick continued, not hearing Bruce. “We can’t do that. We can’t let you miss out on Extravaganza Week!”

“Why not? That’s what you did every other year.”

“We still have time for another round of paintball before the…. What?” Dick’s head snapped back around to Timi.

Her hands were white knuckled around the broken phone. When she looked up her face was momentarily screwed up in a myriad of emotions before her expression smoothed out into a dazzling, white toothed smile. “Why not, Dick?” she repeated pleasantly. “That’s what you did every other year.”

Her shoulders straightened and her chin came up, her voice syrupy and bright. “Do you want to know what I did for _my_ Extravaganza Week, Dick? It was a laugh riot. This week five years ago Bruce dislocated my knee and then told me to fix it myself, because _you have to be able to do your own first aid in the field if you want to be Robin_ , right Bruce? The next day I _did,_ actually, do cold cases. I had to do about thirty of them, within a set time limit and if my conclusions were wrong I had to limp all the way around the Manor because _a Robin can’t afford to make mistakes in reasoning_ and _a Robin has to learn to push past pain in the field_ , isn’t that right, B? The next night Batman left me tied up in a warehouse and told me I had to get free and get out before the cartels that used it got there for the night because _a Robin who can’t escape from enemy territory under adverse conditions is never going to make it in the field_. After all, the last one sure didn’t. Batman dumped me at my doorstep that night, telling me how badly I’d failed and how someone of my stature and skill was _never_ going to make it as Robin, so I shouldn’t come back. The fridge had gone out in the blackouts that year and the pantry got cleaned out. To this day I don’t know if it was thieves or if that was just another test. I was too scared to go to the Manor and find out, but hey, limping to the kitchen to eat would have been such a chore anyway.”

“But what about the years after?” Timi’s smile got even more dazzling. “Glad you asked. The next year… that had to have been Cass’ year and she deserves every good thing, so that’s okay. I wasn’t in much of a position to participate, what with being in a coma ward. Losing four-fifths of your blood volume on the top of the Titans Tower will do that, I guess. The year after that? Well, if it’s a Wayne family welcoming ritual, then I guess you could rightly say I didn’t qualify, since I wasn’t a Wayne that year. I was a hundred percent a Drake; so I had to have the fun of changing my dad’s diaper and feeding him and getting his meds and sitting up with him late at night praying this seizure wouldn’t be the big one all to _myself_. So much fun to be had there. It was okay, my _best friend_ was willing to step up to the plate and take my place without being asked; goodness, without even _asking_. That must have been Steph’s year, and all things considered she’d earned a welcome into the family by then.”

“The year after that was the _funnest_ of all,” Timi’s smile got impossibly wider. Angry women are hysterical. Pleasant women are listened to. “Steph, Bart, Dad, C-Conner,” for one brief infinitesimal moment her mask cracked on that name. “ _And_ you too, Bruce, at the end. If I added it all up and divided it equally I went to a funeral every ten weeks that year. But hey! You can’t spell ‘funeral’ without ‘fun’, huh? Besides, that would have Damian’s _first_ year, right? I doubt whether he would have wanted me there and we can’t upset Damian, now, can we? He’s just a kid and that wouldn’t be right.”

“And last year?” Timi was momentarily contemplative. “I guess I didn’t qualify for any Wayne family rituals that year either, did I? That was made clear to me. Besides, Damian had lost _everything_ , so he probably really needed to bond with you, Dick, for his second Week. Don’t worry about me because let me tell you, being pinned to a bed by an assassin three times my size because Ra’s Al Ghul wants more heirs was a _blast_. A real _riot_. It probably would have gotten even funner for one of us if Cass hadn’t shown up when she did, which is why, ladies and gentlemen, Cass deserves every good thing in the world.”

Timi momentarily pulled her hair free of the last of her styling, looking like a soldier off the battlefield, smile turning even wider. She’d be shocked if she’d seen it in the mirror. She looked almost exactly like Janet Drake once had. “Honestly, Dick, I don’t know why you’re so upset about this whole thing. My exclusion from this so-called family ritual has been so complete by this point that I didn’t even know it was a thing until two weeks ago. My absence is practically a part of the tradition. Why change the status quo now? After all,” her teeth showed. “Welcomes are for people who have been invited. And whatever else I was, I was _never_ that.”

Then she turned and marched into the Manor, past an astonished Alfred, into the kitchens, and closed the door with an echoing slam behind her.


	14. Realisation

_Timi stopped playing again and stared at the square wood panels lining the bottom half of the music room. She looked at them so hard that a throat clearing in the doorway nearly made her hit the ceiling._

_Bruce leaned against one frame, looking amused. “Something wrong?”_

_Timi felt a rush of humiliation. Bruce was dressed in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, about as ruffled as he’d ever let her see him. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to shut the door. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”_

_She waited with her head bowed for the gruff recriminations to start. She was surprised when she got, “You’re not disturbing me,” instead._

_She looked up, bewildered. Her status as a terminal annoyance to Bruce Wayne had been long established._

_It was_ very _hard to read Bruce, but he looked weirdly uncomfortable at her surprise. “You’re a good player.”_

_“I started when I was four and a half,” Timi said, for lack of any other thing to say._

_“That young?” Bruce murmured, almost to himself. “Are you having trouble with the piece? You keep stopping midway. It sounds fine to me.”_

_“Oh, uh,” Timi felt herself go red. “Um… no, it’s not… I keep getting distracted. I shouldn’t let my focus slip so much. Um… I apologise, it won’t happen again.”_

_A weird expression crossed over Bruce’s face that Timi couldn’t hope to parse. “What do get distracted by, exactly?” he asked, his tone strangely tentative._

_Timi felt even more embarrassed. She squirmed uncomfortably but told the truth because Mr. Wayne was more than good enough to spot the lie. “Um… the wood panels in the wainscoting?”_

_Bruce’s eyebrows performed a complicated manoeuvre on his forehead. “Why?”_

_“Um… the panels in this room are bigger than they are in the rest of the Manor,” Timi pointed out. “The wood grains and joins indicate it was all done in the same period, so they’re bigger here because they have to act as doors to somewhere. I’m, um, trying to figure out where the tunnels go based on the measurements of the rooms beyond.”_

_Bruce’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “You figured that out on your own?”_

_“The doors of the personal rooms are too close together,” Timi shrugged. “The extra space implied was bothering me. Um… I notice a lot when things are out of place.” Had to, because Janet Drake could spot an uncleaned dust mote at three hundred yards or more. She could extrapolate the cityscape of an entire lost civilisation with only a couple of bricks to work with, but such an impressive eye for detail didn’t translate very peacefully into everyday life._

_Bruce had a weird expression on his face. His lips were twitching. “Would you like me to show you?”_

_Cautiously encouraged, Timi nodded._

_He beckoned her over to a panel that looked exactly like all the other panels and pressed his big, battered hands against one side of the square. It clicked inwards, then swung out like a cupboard door. “You can lock it from the inside, see,” Bruce pointed to a very sturdy bolt. “Then you can crawl along to the end. It takes a sharp left into a little alcove, but you can’t see that from here.”_

_“It’s very small,” Timi noted solemnly. It was true. The passage was only wide enough to admit an adult for maybe three feet, then it kept narrowing down to the end, making it look longer than it really was. “It’s for children.”_

_Bruce nodded. “The Waynes have always worried about kidnapping. This was put in 1932, after the Lindbergh kidnapping. Generations of Wayne children were told that if there was a break in, to run to the music room to hide. An adult can’t get into the tunnel, even if they could get past the lock. The alcove is there so they can’t just shoot down it. Rumour had it my great grandfather was going to put a little derringer rack in there too, but my great grandmother put an end to that mad idea.”_

_Fascinated, Timi stared into the dark tunnel. To be honest, she wished she could say something that interesting about where she lived. “So, it didn’t lead anywhere after all,” she nodded. “That’s why I couldn’t map it out. I thought it had to go somewhere.”_

_Bruce closed the panel. “This one doesn’t. There are others that do. Would you like to see if you can find them all?”_

_Timi blinked. So, this was another test? If it was, it wasn’t starting like any of the others. “Would you like me to compile a report?”_

_Bruce blinked back at her. “No,” he said eventually. “No report. Just, uh… just go looking. No rush. But when you find one, tell me what clues you noted to help you find it.”_

_That sounded interesting. “Okay,” Timi nodded. “I can do that.”_

_Bruce and Alfred may have, eventually, come to rue this assignment, especially when she started popping up in random places covered with dust and cobwebs. But once Timi started, she couldn’t stop. The Manor was the world’s biggest puzzle box and she loved puzzles._

_Best of all, Bruce never seemed to find any fault with her reasoning or anything else while she was on her secret tunnel surveyance. No harsh criticisms, no careless dismissals, not even any impatient corrections. He would just sit and listen to her chatter about different eras of architecture and geometry and craftsmanship, face peaceful._

_It was hard work, but that part made it fun._

*

Of all of them, it was Damian who moved first. He ditched the paintball gun and went for the door before the rattles had died off. Cass followed half a heartbeat later and they both hit the door together, but it would not budge. Timi had locked it behind her.

“Holy shit,” Stephanie whispered, her face drained of all colour. “What the hell just _happened_?”

Bruce wouldn’t answer; his face was set in stone as he processed the avalanche of old hurt that his daughter had unleashed upon them. Dick couldn’t; he was locked up like a statue and reeling internally.

Jason was scowling. “Did she just say _pinned_ to a fucking _bed_?”

That was a cattle prod to their senses. Dick unclenched even as Babs rolled up to him and said “ _Cass_.”

Cass shook her head. “Not now,” she turned to Alfred. “Key?”

The older man was patting himself down frantically. “I do not have them,” he reported apologetically. “They’re all inside.”

“I’ll hack the outer system. I can get the front door open,” Babs offered, eyes steely and lips tight.

Bruce strode up to the door. “Timi!” he pounded on it. “Timi, please open the door! Please open the door, baby!”

Nothing.

“It’s possible she cannot hear you,” Alfred suggested. “The doors are exceptionally well shielded.”

Babs was already tapping access codes into her wheelchair computer. Dick was fidgeting next to her, face twisted with misery.

“Hell,” Jason rattled the door handle roughly. “We should just kick it down.”

“Not unless you wanted to shatter your foot,” Bruce told him grimly. “Timi! Please!”

Damian, meanwhile, had backed up. “Todd!” he snapped. “Upper right window! Spot!”

Then he was sprinting towards Jason’s position, giving the tall man just enough time to crouch down and act as a springboard so the boy could leap high to bounce off a drainpipe and reach the frame of a small window on the second floor which was open just half an inch. The thirteen-year-old hung from the lip of the frame like a monkey and levered the window open with his free hand, slithering in as soon as he got it up.

“Unlock the door before you start looking!” Dick ordered. His hands knotted and unknotted, painted nails digging in. “B,” he croaked helplessly while they waited.

“I know,” Bruce replied grimly. “Let’s just find her first.”

Damian was fast. He was down to the kitchen in an instant, scowling face appearing in the doorway. “Come on. I didn’t see her anywhere on my way in.”

What a miserable parade they must have looked, taking the stairs two at a time to get to Timi’s room. All for naught, they discovered, as she wasn’t there.

“ _Guys, I’m in the Cave_ ,” Babs’ voice came in through the PA system while they all stood there at the entrance to the empty room, bereft of ideas. “ _She didn’t come down here._ ”

“Cameras?” Dick turned towards the nearest one.

“They’re not engaged unless the alarms are triggered or there’s an alert,” Bruce shook his head. “Not inside the house.” He wearily scrubbed his hands through his hair.

“Maybe we should give her a little space,” Stephanie suggested quietly. When they all turned to stare at her she added “I’m just saying, she might not be in the mood to talk to any of _us_ right now and definitely not all of us at once.”

Dick’s focused expression cracked upon hearing this.

“Brown, try to rub your two brain cells together!” Damian snapped. “We must find her now!”

“ _You_ want to find her?” Jason asked in disbelief. “ _You_ of all people?”

Damian looked at their bewildered expressions and almost tore his hair out. “I’m surrounded by imbeciles! It’s a hundred and twenty degrees and ninety percent humidity outside.”

“Yeah, no kidding, brat. We did kinda notice,” Jason replied, baffled. “So?”

“ _So_ ,” Damian’s teeth were clenched. “We’re all sweating!”

“What?” Dick blinked rapidly. “Dami, what are you—”

“She wasn’t.”

They turned to look at Bruce at those words, delivered softly and edged with real horror. “Not a drop that I could see,” Bruce’s eyes were widening as the detective came to the fore. “It’s over a hundred degrees and she’d just sprinted through the entire hedge maze and she _wasn’t sweating_.”

“Oh shit,” Dick breathed. “ _Shit!_ ”

“She has heat stroke,” Jason summarised grimly. “Which means she might be delirious, which means she could be wandering fucking anywhere right now.”

“Fuuuuck!” Stephanie swore. “ _Timi! Can you hear me? Timi!_ ”

“Ground floor,” a pale Cass nodded to Bruce tightly and plummeted back down the steps.

Bruce shook himself. “Cass is right, we need to be systematic. Steph, you search this wing; Dick, you take the opposite one. Jason, help Cass and tell Alfred what’s going on. I’ll start on the upper levels and work down. Damian, you’re with me. Babs!” he yelled.

“ _Security system has been up and running since I got down here,_ ” Babs replied. “ _Nothing yet but I’m going quadrant by quadrant._ ”

“Use the PA,” Bruce urged. “Call to her.”

The house rang with the sounds of Timi’s name. As a family filled with trained investigators they were both very efficient and very thorough, and they had the world’s foremost surveillance expert combing through footage with a fine-tooth comb. There was no sign of Timi. It was like she’d vanished entirely.

Bruce ran his fingers through his hair, heart rate becoming increasingly frantic. Nothing on the cameras meant that Timi had gone somewhere the cameras weren’t. There were _very few_ places like that in the Manor; his well-justified concerns about security meant even the crawl spaces and ducts too small for a human to reach had some sort of surveillance, even if it was just sensors. The entire security array was currently lighting up the screens in front of Babs down in the cave. Bruce doubted that Timi could circumvent all of it, even when fully cognitive.

It didn’t reassure him in the slightest. The Manor was old and packed to the rafters with secrets even older than his. What if he’d missed one? What if his darling daughter was, even at this moment, choking on her own vomit in some forgotten hidey hole that would become her tomb? He couldn’t stand it.

He was but a hair’s breadth away from calling in Clark and having him smash the place to pieces if that’s what it took.

He went back into the kitchen where they’d last seen her, desperate for any sign, any clue of where she’d gone. What he found instead was his other daughter, leaning back against the doorway, palms flat against it and eyes closed, her posture so reminiscent of Timi that for an infinitesimal moment Bruce thought it was.

The door rattled behind her, like someone had just pounded on it. The shielding on the door muffled most of the sound, but the rattle was distinct. Cass jumped off the door like she was surprised and went forward a step or two, eyes still closed.

The door opened to admit Jason, sweating faintly. His eyes flicked to Bruce, but he went back to watching Cass thoughtfully. “Well?” he asked gruffly.

Cass’ eyes were still closed. She put a hand on her chest and tapped it, rapid fire. _Heart beating fast._ Then grabbed her temple with her other hand. _Head hurts_.

Bruce understood what Cass was doing. Cassandra Cain was one of the finest profilers he’d ever had the pleasure to know. She could submerge herself into the mindset of just about anyone in any state and go on to predict exactly what their next moves would be with uncanny accuracy.

She was Timi’s sister and arguably the one with the closest relationship with her in the family. There might be no one else on Earth who understood Timi better than she did.

“Upset,” Cass’ forehead creased according to the emotional state. “Hurt.”

“She wasn’t angry,” Jason shook his head. His second son was almost as good a profiler as Cass, but where her insight came from microexpressions and movement, his came from words and language. “She was frustrated. Embarrassed. She’d _failed_.” There was a ring of significance on the last word.

Cass nodded to this while Bruce watched them, waiting on tenterhooks, heart pounding away.

“… confused?” Cass murmured. She tapped her chest in a rapid beat again. “Sick, dizzy. In danger.”

“She wasn’t in danger,” Jason frowned.

“But she _thought_ she was,” Bruce interjected, attuned to Cass’ wavelength of thought. “She thought there was an attack not five minutes prior. It takes us a while to rise out of our battle mindset. We’ve all been trained to hold it for a long time. Heat stroke makes you disorientated, affects your emotional state, your short-term memory. That leads to nothing good when you’ve just had a shot of adrenaline.”

“Hiding,” Cass decided. “ _Hiding_. Not from us. Just hiding.”

Jason ran a frustrated hand through his sweaty, green streaked hair. “That doesn’t help us. There’s no hiding place anywhere in this paranoia paradise of a puzzle box that doesn’t have a fucking camera in it somewhere. Babs would have spotted her by now.”

Cass’ brow pinched as she tried to get onto her sister’s wavelength. “Where?” she bit out. “Home. Safety. Safe space. _Where_?”

_Safe space_.

Bruce straightened up.

Cass’ head snapped around to him. “You have it.”

Bruce turned and raced out of the room, all other considerations sloughing away as his mind went into a state of pure focus. He didn’t notice Cass dogging him by inches or Jason vaulting the kitchen island to follow them both, letting out an ear-splitting robin call whistle to alert the rest of the household as he did so.

Bruce ignored it all and was up the stairs and into the personal wing like he was teleporting. He blitzed past a startled Stephanie and slammed into the music room at the far end.

He turned sharply, grabbed a panel that looked like all the other panels and heaved.

Locked. It was _locked_.

It only locked from the inside.

He pounded on the panel desperately. “Timi? Timi, can you hear me baby? I need you to unlock the hatch! Timi!”

Nothing. Silence flowed back, chill as the grave.

Fuck it. 

Bruce punched the panel. And again. And again. On the fourth try a tiny split appeared. Without protection his knuckles screamed and bled, but Bruce’s scope of considerations had tunnelled down to one priority.

Punch. Punch. The wood splintered. Punch. Punch. _Punch_. His fist was leaving bloody smears across virgin wood. Punch. Punch. He felt something give in his knuckle joint, disregarded it, and punched again. Bits of panel were cracking off under his onslaught.

There were noises going on behind him, but in this state they were muffled and distant, the buzzing of insects. He was abruptly called back to full awareness of his surroundings when a strong set of hands grabbed him and yanked him back.

“Out of the fucking way, old man!” Jason ordered grimly. “Dickie, go!”

Dick had reached them. Briefed by Babs he’d taken precious time to divert to the tool room and grab a fifteen-pound splitting maul that looked like it could go through the wall like it was paper. Dick face was fierce as he hefted it and they backed well out of the range of swing. Dick with lithe, but he was almost nothing but sinew. He was _strong_.

One blow sheared through the panel like butter, and a second and third ripped massive chunks of three-inch hardwood out of the wall. Bruce lurched forward as the hole was punched, his bloody hand reaching in to disengage the bolt and rip the remainder of the panel right off the wall.

He couldn’t see her. “Damian, at the end, there’s an alcove.” Damian was the only one of them who would fit. Aside from Timi.

“Phone!” Damian barked and was quickly supplied one by a hovering Steph. Using it as a flashlight, he dove into the tunnel and along it at a full speed crawl. At the end, his body weaved around like a cat and then he vanished.

They held their breaths. Never patient under stress, Dick called out. “Dami?”

“She’s here,” Damian yelled back. “She’s breathing. Unconscious.”

The relief hit Bruce like a punch to the gut. It hit all of them, judging by the mass exhale. Dick sagged to his knees.

“Her pulse is rapid, but strong,” Damian reported, all business. “Drake! Timianna! It’s no good,” Damian’s head popped back out of the gloom at the back, half lit by the glow of the phone. “I’m going to have to drag her out.”

Cass, the next smallest after the two already in the tunnel, shoved her way forward and crawled into it too. She couldn’t quite twist her body enough at the narrow end to get into the even narrower alcove, but she could reach into it with her arms. “Push,” she told Damian. “I’ll pull.”

The others waited on tenterhooks as the pair worked in tandem to manoeuvre Timi’s limp form around the right angle of the turn and into the tunnel proper. Cass took over from there, scuttling backwards rapidly, pulling Timi by her ankles out towards the entrance. Cass’ knees had just hit the carpet of the music room when a massive pair of arms reached over her, grabbed Timi and hauled her out into daylight.

She still wasn’t sweating. Her face was flushed and slack, her skin hot to the touch.

“Timi?” Dick croaked, gently tilting her head around while she flopped limply in Bruce’s arms. “Babydoll?” No response.

“ _Master Wayne_ ,” Alfred’s voice rang crisply through the PA system. “ _I have the Bath prepared. Please bring the young mistress downstairs post haste._ ”

“Cave,” Bruce barked to the rest of them as he turned and hurried as fast as he dared to go with the precious burden in his arms. Most of his children sprinted ahead of him, tag teaming each other to clear pathways through any possible obstacle and get various doors open so that Bruce’s journey could be conducted at a dead run. Dick kept pace with him, a spotter for any possible stumbles. They reached the Cave in record time and got to the Bath where Alfred was waiting as promised.

The Bath had earned its name. Bruce made as much use of the natural features of the Cave as he could, and the waist deep pool, half sculpted by time and water and half shaped by the tools of man, had been a godsend on nights of strains and sprains when they were in too much pain to even get up the stairs, or when fevers hit from toxins. It could be filled and emptied at will, heated with the installed heating system or iced with a ready supply of cold packs. They’d all made use of it more than once.

Bruce didn’t even bother kicking his shoes off. He leapt over the short lip and into the water. The water was only cool at this point. The ice packs were stacked next to it ready for use, but they couldn’t take her temperature down too fast. Her body wouldn’t withstand it. The Bath was big. It could easily fit Bruce and Timi, with enough space left over for a couple more family members.

Bruce gently lay his daughter down in the water, her hair starting to float outwards like seaweed. He was barely aware of Stephanie clawing into the Bath as well, grabbing handfuls of hand towels to wet down and start washing Timi down Bruce watched Timi’s face, desperate for any sign of consciousness.

Steph had grabbed the proffered thermometer off Alfred and taken a reading. “Fuck, 104.7,” she announced.

“Damn it,” Dick cursed as he too splashed his way in. “We have to get some of her layers off.”

Helping hands gently tugged loose paint splattered clothing and scuffed shoes.

“Damn,” Jason grimaced as he took the proffered footwear. “Her feet are really bad.”

They were; her sprint had rubbed them bloody, pink trails faintly fanning out in the water.

Steph was trying to work loose the buttons of her work shirt while Bruce managed to wrangle off her jacket one handed when Damian’s voice broke their concentration.

“Drake?” his eyes were narrowed at the still form. “Drake, are you—”

Timi snapped up like a steel trap delivering a cracking blow to the underside of Bruce’s jaw and slamming a foot hard into Dick’s midsection. She was silent, her eyes open but blank.

She began pounding a fist hard into the stone side of the Bath, a staccato, unrelenting series of thumps. 

“Holy! Timi!” Stephanie went for her, trying to wrestle her back but Timi _shrieked_ and kicked back off the wall, sending her and her would-be attacker back into the opposite side of the Bath. Stephanie’s breath left her in a whoosh as Timi’s elbow found her gut, then she was dragged under by a ferociously fighting, teeth bared Timi.

“Timi! Stop!” Bruce lurched forward and grabbed his daughter as gently as he could, trying to haul her off before Stephanie drowned. The family fanned out around the pool, arms out, shouting at cross purposes to both Timi and each other.

Timi twisted in his grip like a cat, furiously clawing for whatever nerve cluster she could reach, her eyes distant and cold, hair in mad tendrils across her face. It was the sum ending lesson that Bruce had taught all his children. _When you have nothing else, fight._ Bruce had no clue what his daughter was seeing in her delirium, but she clearly had no idea where she was.

Timi’s writhing flails had her feet and free hand bashing wildly into the side of the Bath as she fought to get free. Bruce cursed and tightened his grip, gritting his teeth past the successful nerve blocks she had already landed. “Timi, please!”

Dick lunged in and wrapped himself around her wildly kicking legs, hanging on for dear life. “Timi, it’s okay! It’s okay! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“ඔබේ හදවතේ පහසුව ඔබේ නම අමතක වේවා!” she spat in response, writhing all the harder. She was impossible for them to hold onto; she was almost daring them to try dislocating or breaking something trying to pin her.

Jason had already yanked Stephanie up above the water and Alfred had vanished somewhere, probably into the medical bay. Babs had rolled to the very edge, face tight and worried and Damian and Cass were on the lip, willing to jump in but for the space to do so.

“Miss Gordon,” Alfred cried as he headed back towards the Bath from the med bay at full tilt. “Sedative!” he threw an autoinjector at the redhead, who caught it gamely.

Babs shared a look with Cass, who nodded. Then Cass leapt onto Bruce’s back, wrapped around him like a limpet and grabbed Timi’s head with both hands. “Timi. _Safe!_ ” she put all the force and volume into the words she could muster. “ _Safe! Safe!_ ”

It penetrated. Timi locked up in Bruce’s arms, eyes screwing shut then opening, glassy. “…. Cass?” she whispered.

“Safe,” Cass insisted, folding around Bruce’s shoulder to press her forehead to Timi’s. “Safe. Safe.”

“Bruce,” Jason urged. “Give her to Cass and back away. You too, Dick.”

Dick head whipped around. “ _Say what_?”

“ _Pinned to a bed_ , Dick!” Jason barked. “You don’t know where the fuck her head is right now. Getting restrained by a couple of brick shithouse guys probably ain’t going to keep her calm.”

Dick let go of Timi’s legs like she was spontaneously combusting and backed away, eyes wide.

Babs took the opportunity to heave herself off the chair and into the Bath, injector between her teeth. “Give her to me, Bruce,” she asked quietly once she was seated.

Reluctant but unable to argue Jason’s logic, Bruce lowered Timi into Babs’ lap and slowly backed away while Cass climbed down and Stephanie got back in. The three surrounded their fallen fourth and began seeing to the cool down while Babs hit her with the injector.

After a storm of noise and motion, the only sounds that followed were the lapping of water and the clatter of colliding ice packs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ඔබේ හදවතේ පහසුව ඔබේ නම අමතක වේවා - obē hadavatē pahasuva obē nama amataka vēvā - “May your heart forget your name!”  
> \- I intended this is be a 'shadowtongue', a language only used by the League of Assassins. I used Sinhalese because the alphabet was flowing and pretty.


	15. Untangling

_Timi limped worriedly back and forth. She didn’t bite her nails because four thousand odd miles of distance wouldn’t protect her from the wrath of her mother, but she did turn one of the concert hall’s pens over and over in her hands like a talisman._

_She shouldn’t have called. She shouldn’t have bothered anyone._

_As she paced she wobbled dangerously as the flap of her ruined sole peeled ever further off her black, bespoke leather shoes that her parents had bought specifically for going to concerts with. They had been designed to the last micrometre to show that the Drake line was a refined and dignified legacy, driven by intellectual and artistic pursuits rather than the crass desires of mere money making, but right now Timi was heartily wishing they’d also been designed to withstand spin kick practice. She oughtn’t have been practicing here, but the katas helped her to achieve a state of focus very quickly. They allowed her mind to quiet down as she waited for her sets for the evening._

_What else could she have done, though? Her tutor wasn’t here, and her parents were in Prague. She didn’t really know any of the other performers and, in any case, not one of them would be her size. She couldn’t go out there in stockinged feet. The report would get back to Mother and then there would be hell to pay._

_Mr. Wayne was probably going to be upset that Timi had called Alfred for assistance. Alfred was_ his _butler, not Timi’s, after all. Alfred hadn’t sounded at all put out by Timi’s frantic request over the phone, but Alfred was fearless and unflappable._

_Someone was playing a Handel operetta suite in the hall itself. The lobby was empty of everyone but her, worriedly fretting in her designer performance clothes. She didn’t have very long before her sets were scheduled to start. What if Alfred couldn’t get here in time? Could she maybe get them to change the schedule? Dare she risk hobbling out there as she was? Her stomach churned._

_“Timi?”_

_Timi’s stomach ceased to churn and violently imploded to roughly the size of a dried pea. Bruce Wayne himself was standing in front of her, wearing an evening suit and toting a plastic bag. She was speechless. What could she say?_

_“Uh, Alfred said you needed shoes,” Bruce offered the bag to her with a surprising amount of awkwardness. Even Brucie Wayne could usually pull off a good amount of physical grace._

_Timi took the bag like he’d just handed her a bomb. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she mumbled lamely. She couldn’t understand why Alfred had done this to her. Maybe it was a punishment? It didn’t fit with what she knew of the kindly old man._

_“It’s no bother,” Bruce frowned as she shuffled over to one of the guest benches to unstrap her ruined shoes. “I’m confused as to why you didn’t just ask your parents to get you a spare set.”_

_“They’re in Prague,” Timi explained._

_Bruce frowned harder. “They didn’t come home for your concert?”_

_“They never come to any of my concerts,” Timi shrugged. “Mother thinks there’s no logic in listening to others play when all you wish to hear is one performer, especially when I can play for them at home. My tutor usually comes, but he’s at a music competition with one of his other students tonight. Um, I wouldn’t have called Alfred, but the only other person I could call is my housekeeper and she’s on vacation right now, so I was, um, stuck.” Timi forced herself to stop babbling and tugged the shoebox out of the bag._

_She opened the box and her mouth dropped open._

_“Sorry,” Bruce said gruffly. “K-Mart was pretty much the only thing open on the way and_ —”

_“Oh my god,” Timi lifted the red glitter tennis shoes out of the box in wonder. “I love them!”_

_Bruce blinked. “You do?”_

_“They’re so glittery!” Timi gushed, ten years of repressed desires to have fun, sparkly shoes like she’d seen all the other girls get blooming like a flower. “I’m never allowed to have glittery shoes. Thank you very much!”_

_She beamed at him._

_Bruce’s mouth closed with a snap. An uncertain, but not reluctant, smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”_

_“Drake? Drake?” One of the organisers came into the lobby via the performer’s door, holding a clipboard._

_“Here!” Timi waved._

_“There you are!” the woman scolded. “We need you in the line-up now, you’re on soon.” Then she did a double take as she realised that Bruce Wayne, the undisputed Prince of Gotham, was standing in the lobby with her delinquent performer. “Bruce Wayne?!” Her usually cultured voice hit an exceptionally high register._

_Brucie Wayne gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about the delay Miss_ — _?”_

_“Nevelle-Trenton,” the woman replied._

_“Oh, one of the New York Trentons? Very famous patrons of the arts, aren’t they? They sponsor… galleries and things, right?” Brucie gave the dazed woman a vacuous smile. “I do a bit of that myself.”_

_Miss Nevelle-Trenton was wrongfooted by this immense and baffling understatement. “Uh_ —”

_“Sorry about the delay,” Brucie continued smoothly. “The Drakes are old friends of mine. I was just helping Timi here with a little wardrobe malfunction.” He let out a bray of a laugh. “Not the really embarrassing kind, of course.”_

_“Of course,” Miss Nevelle-Trenton repeated. “I… I don’t think I saw your name on the guest list…”_

_“He’s not staying,” Timi interjected before the woman could get any ideas. “He just came to drop off some shoes. He has a gala to get to this evening for the Gotham Food Bank.”_

_Past the mask of Brucie, Timi saw a flicker of surprise whip through Bruce’s gaze. She wondered at its origin. Surely she needed to know his schedule so she could work her training in around his obligations?_

_“Oh, I don’t know,” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “The cause is worthy but the people there are, you know, pretty boring. Hey, maybe I can stay and listen in for a while! My butler keeps telling me I need some culture, and not the kind that grows in the bathroom.” He laughed again, emptily._

_Timi’s mouth dropped open. What was going on here? “Are you sure?” she essayed tentatively. “They might… miss you?”_

_Brucie shrugged airily. “I doubt it. Besides, I’d much rather be here and listen to kids trying their best than schmooze with a bunch of adults doing their worst. That sounds like more fun.”_

_He shot the organiser a winning smile. “I don’t suppose you could find a spare seat for me to squeeze into? I’ll donate, of course! Fifty thousand? A hundred?” He brayed with laughter again._

_Truthfully, he didn’t look all that good. His clothing was impeccable, and the wonders of concealer kept bags and bruises alike from the light of day, but his eyes were clearly bloodshot and his chin rough with stubble. He looked like he was coming off a three-day bender._

_Some weeks hit him harder than others._

_But it was a testament to the Wayne charisma_ — _if not, to the charisma of the Wayne fortune_ — _that Bruce Wayne could get away with a lot worse than looking hungover at a children’s music concert. Miss Nevelle-Trenton tripped over herself assuring him that they had space for him in the hall._

_“Great!” Brucie beamed. “I’ll be listening for your sets, kiddo!” he told Timi offhandedly as he was led away._

_Timi spent the rest of her brief wait trying to make sense of the heart pounding tension that gripped her. This wasn’t just another music concert anymore. This was important._

_Waiting in the wings while her name was announced brought Timi out in a cold sweat such as not even the thugs of Gotham could inspire in her. She fiddled and fidgeted and didn’t show the Drake name to its best advantage at_ all.

 _But when she looked at her shoes_ — _her amazing, glittery, gaudy shoes, there was a great unwinding of understanding inside her. Bruce was still a kind person, somewhere underneath it all. She knew he didn’t understand why the shoes_ — _these shoes_ — _meant so much to her, fulfilled a wish long stifled and buried, but she knew he was glad she liked them, that her feelings about them mattered._

_She’d have gone through a lot more to have gained a lot less than knowing that._

_And when she’d finished her performance and saw him past the lights, clapping away with a Bruce-face and not a Brucie-face, Timi decided Mother was half-right and half-wrong._

_Applause from strangers was empty._

_Applause from someone who mattered could fill the entire world._

*

A pall hung over the Cave, especially around the men inside it. The women at least had a purpose. Timi had been whisked into the medical bay after her ice bath and Babs, Cass and Steph were engaged in getting her changed and checked and hydrated. The rest of them, sans Alfred, were hovering around with no other design but to feel useless. Damian was working on something on the Bat Computer, but his eyes would continually slide towards the bay. Jason was at a workbench, methodically and mindlessly cleaning his guns like another person might finger a rosary. Dick had pressed himself against the wall of the cave in a direct sight line to the bay, drawn his knees to his chest, and was completely still. A still Dick was an incredibly bad indicator of his current mental state.

Bruce couldn’t comfort his eldest. What dark grief gnawing inside Dick would be any different than what churned inside him? What self-flagellation Dick mortified himself with could be worse than what Bruce did to himself? Any platitude Bruce could offer would ring as hollow as the sky.

A hideous crash brought him from his black study of his knuckles. Caught unawares, his head jerked up to see that Cass and Stephanie had emerged from the med bay. Stephanie looked like she was hovering near the door, but Cass had gone over to the rows of lockers.

Where she was being confronted by Jason.

Who had just left a sizable dent in a locker door right near Cass’ head.

Bruce was on his feet in a heartbeat but stopped dead at Jason’s opening sally.

“Name.” He said the word totally flatly, as close to a killing rage as Bruce had seen in nearly two years.

Cass stared him down, eyes dark and unafraid. “Irrelevant.”

Bruce felt his chest contract even as Jason raised an eyebrow. “Dead?”

Cass moved like a snake, hand whipping in a slashing motion across the latitude of Jason’s groin fast enough to bring out a cold sweat in the hardiest of men. “Incapable.”

Even Dick turned his head to stare at Cass upon hearing that.

Silence. Then Jason curled a hand into a fist and offered it. “Respect.”

Cass returned his fist bump primly.

“Wow, okay,” Stephanie broke the half horrified, half admiring silence first. “I’d say that it’s settled but I have a lot of feelings about that and it’s going to take a while to process. In the meantime, Timi’s asleep and under the cooling blanket and Alfred said we should start suiting up now if we’re going out tonight. He also said B _isn’t_ , unless he gets to look over his hands first.”

Bruce shook himself out of his stupor — that special horror of a revelation was currently locked up tight in his mind for future analysis. He didn’t dare dwell on it, lest he go into a frothing rage, hunt down Ra’s al Ghul and show him exactly — down to the last micrometer — how cruel a no-kill rule could be. “Cass, can you cover Timi’s zone for tonight?”

Cass nodded dutifully.

“I’ll spot her,” Jason offered. “My territory and Baby Bird’s butt up against each other anyway.”

“I’ll check the active casefiles,” Stephanie nodded. “I’ll triage out whatever can wait.” It went without saying that none of them were going to be on their game tonight.

“I’ll inform the Sirens they’ll be needed,” Damian muttered at the screens.

“Babs can run sysops from here,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damian, you’ll be with Dick. I’ll do rounds between various zones; street crime will be high tonight now that the heatwave is broken.”

“No,” Dick’s voice was leaden. “I’ll take the cowl tonight. You stay here.” His eyes darkly dared Bruce to challenge him on this. “Someone needs to be there when she wakes up.”

Dick was rarely wrong when it came to spotting emotional yearnings. Timi needed it; Bruce did too. Somewhere underneath Dick’s assessment was she _won’t want to see me,_ but Bruce didn’t dare try to argue while his eldest’s feelings were so raw.

So the others suited up and went out into the wet, stormy night, leaving Oracle to man the screens in the Cave and Bruce floundering at a loose end. He went to the med bay when they were all gone or occupied and sat down shakily at the sight of his daughter there.

Shorn of power suits or combat armour, Timi looked terrifyingly vulnerable. Tiny by design, the tank top and shorts made her look even slighter. Her fair shading contrasted sharply with her magnificent tangle of blue-black hair. Under the harsh lights of the bay she looked like she was made of fine porcelain, translucent and fragile.

Easy to break.

The heat stroke was bad enough, but it was only the final, devastating blow. Alfred had noted a dozen other issues in his examination of her. She was fifteen pounds underweight and while summer was the season they all lost pounds to both sweat and higher activity, fifteen pounds could not be explained away by water weight. She hadn’t been eating well for weeks. Bruce acknowledged that Timi had the same affliction he did when it came to eating regularly — they both tended to forget when their brains were fully engaged elsewhere. But Timi had an exceptionally thin margin of error there that a man Bruce’s size didn’t have.

Plus, Alfred had noted signs of chronic exhaustion. Dick had worriedly conveyed to him earlier in the week that Timi had confessed she was not sleeping well in the heat. It was so bad that Alfred had made some concerning follow-up requests in regards to her blood work, noting the white cell count had sunk so low that his daughter was within the hash marks of immunocompromised.

The physical issues alone pointed to a massive failure on their parts — particularly Bruce’s. None of it would have gotten as bad as this had he or any of the rest of the family been keeping their eyes on Timi, making sure she ate and slept. They all knew her predilection for working until she dropped, they all knew they had to work around it, the same way they worked around Bruce’s obsessiveness or Damian’s violence or Dick’s habit of smiling through pain. They all supported each other, covered each other’s weak points. And yet, somehow, Timi had become so capable and so unobtrusive into their lives that she’d somehow gotten written into the background. That should _never_ have happened.

Bruce buried his face in his hands.

He had to fix it. He had to fix all of it.

As a problem solver, Bruce was patient, methodical and inexorable. Faced with such a vast, impossible tangle, the only place he could start was by data mapping the problem back to its source.

Extravaganza Week. It wasn’t hard to see why this year’s Week had meant so much to him. He had returned from the dead into a world which had fundamentally shifted in his absence. Getting all his children together to celebrate just being _alive_ one more year, one brief moment of joy before the next crisis or apocalypse or just plain old drama inevitably surfaced… for sheer rarity alone, it had been worth trying.

But it was more than that. It was a chance for them to shore up their relationships, to mend cracks and let old wounds heal. A small, fragile moment where they weren’t paired off in tiny groups only as convenience and necessity dictated but were a willing whole. His death and subsequent events had strained them all to breaking point. It had seemed a grand idea to draw them all close and let them interact in some way that wasn’t life or death, to let them relax and reconnect.

Especially Timi.

When he’d returned home after being skipped through time he’d been astonished, and subsequently dismayed, to learn Timi had moved out of the Manor entirely and had no plans to move back in. She spent ninety three percent of her time all the way across the country in San Francisco with the Titans, only returning for brief sojourns for Wayne Enterprises business or select casework in Gotham. She might see the inside of the Cave once in six months, and Bruce doubted she’d set foot into the Manor at all. Whenever they spoke it was in stilted, technical terms regarding business or casework but nothing else. None of their shared playful banter was extant. The amazing, beautiful, endless font of sweetness his daughter was capable of when her wall of reserve was down was dammed tightly inside her, never showing so much as a hint to daylight.

He’d been aggrieved and baffled by her sudden distance. Dick had proven unexpectedly mute on the subject, only admitting tersely to the fact that circumstances had forced him to make hard decisions and that Timi had come out on the losing end of them. Bruce knew all about making hard choices, and he could hardly chastise his eldest when he himself had fumbled some huge ones in the past in much worse ways. Still, he acknowledged that losing Robin the way she had must have broken his daughter’s heart.

He’d hesitated over insisting she come home when he’d first come back. Part of it was past experience with his sons. Both Dick and Jason been driven out of his reach by his tendency to overbear and act too controlling. He’d thought this time it might be better to let her grow into confidence in her new persona without having his shadow hovering over her, perhaps implying he didn’t think her capable of flying on her own. He’d held out as long as he could, but eventually it had been too much for his heart — call it a product of a patriarchal system if you would, but Timi was his sixteen-year-old daughter. He couldn’t stand the thought of her going out there alone. He knew it was irrational, she’d already _done_ that, but Bruce just couldn’t leave it be. He’d regretted his hesitance and had caved to his instincts. He’d asked her to come home.

But because he had all the emotional finesse of a half-shucked oyster, he’d asked in the worst way possible. Bruce Wayne was going to ‘retire’ from Wayne Enterprises — or at least go on long service leave. He’d told her he needed time to settle back into his life, decide what to do with the cowl. It would look good for the company if his business heir apparent was in the vicinity and manning the helm, as it were.

He’d thought that if he could just get her in the door, get her to stay still, then proximity and time would take care of the rest. He’d genuinely believed most of the problem had been geographic, that she just needed some downtime with them to unwind and let her walls down again. He knew, deep in his bones, that Timi loved her family fiercely and without limit. Once she was back among them regularly, that love and all the sweetness it generated would be drawn to the surface again.

Peering at the mess through the microscopic lens of hindsight, he cringed at himself. Would it have been so hard if he’d simply told her he’d wanted her to come home? Not Timianna-the-CEO or Red-Robin-the-soldier, but just Timi, his daughter whom he loved more than anything and whose safety he worried about.

Why couldn’t he have just _said_ that? Why did he manufacture a call to duty like she was some sort of loyal employee? Was that how he’d always managed his interactions with Timi; like a competent assistant, not a beloved and valued child whom he would die for?

Was that how _she’d_ always seen it?

As Bruce unwound the thread back and back and back, it was like a bottomless pit opening in his stomach. He couldn’t say for _certain_ that’s what she thought, but he saw enough red flags to line a parade. _My god,_ Bruce thought. _She invented a fake uncle to try to get out of being adopted. What is_ that _but a sign she didn’t think she could make a home here_?

 _Welcomes are for people who are invited_. What a just accusation to levy against him, for it was absolutely true. He hadn’t invited her in, not into his work or his home, not into his life or heart, not in the beginning. He’d gotten better, he _had_ embraced her with perfect love eventually, but that didn’t change the fact that the first thing he’d ever told her was that she didn’t belong here, that she wasn’t wanted. Just because she had, rightfully, as it turned out, ignored him didn’t mean those words hadn’t sunk deep. He, of all people in all the world, knew how deep seeds of childhood trauma rooted in the soul.

Bruce knew he had shortcomings when it came to his children. He was a precise and deadly cognitive engine in every other aspect of his life, and a fumbling, bumbling amateur where they were concerned. Even experience barely mitigated the human shaped disaster he became around the emotional tangles of loving, because every one of his children — adopted, surrogate, blood or otherwise — were all distinct, completely different from each other. No one strategy worked with all of them, or any strategy all of the time.

It was a maze of endless failures; but, crucially, an infinite wellspring of wisdom, empathy and humility. His Mission, in its hard way, made him strong. His children, in a roundabout way, made him _good_.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

 _Welcomes are for people who are invited_.

He would fix this. He would fix all of it.

It couldn’t be too late. He wouldn’t let it.


	16. Determination

_Timi was halfway through_ Destroy All Monsters _and a third of the way through her precious, hoarded cookies when a faint chink of noise came from the balcony. Absolutely crystal clear on the need for mindfulness of her surroundings, Timi ‘accidentally’ brushed her empty glass off the coffee table and then lunged to grab it, sliding off the couch as she did so. From her crouch and in this lighting, she could catch a near mirror-like reflection of anything through the balcony doors on the glass of the artifact case budged up against the entertainment dock._

_She looked and then promptly backpedalled gracelessly in surprise, banging into the heavy wooden trimming of the antique couch._

_The Batman had emerged from the shadows over the balcony rail._

_Thoroughly flustered, Timi hurried to unlock the balcony door and let her esteemed guest in. “Batman! Um…” she faltered and then reset to a factory setting out of sheer nerves. “Welcome. Please come in.”_

_She winced internally at the bland, meaningless pleasantry meant for dinner party guests and business partners._

_Batman didn’t answer her directly but he did give her a brief nod, politely acknowledging her words. The cowl was built to block any chance of reading facial expressions, but Timi, like all Robins before her, had become something of a connoisseur of reading Batman’s emotional state through the faint tics and twitches of his mouth. He was frowning with the very edges of his lips, the faint pull of muscles at the top of his cheeks indicated he was looking around the apartment. He was looking for something._

_“Um…” Timi fidgeted. “I asked Alfred. He said I wasn’t on the roster tonight. Was… was he mistaken?” She’d checked twice. Alfred had firmly stated the birthdays were days off. “I’m sorry if I…”_

_That got him to look back at her. “No, it’s fine. He was right, you have tonight off.”_

_Timi breathed out silently in relief. Though that opened an entire trunk of other questions that she had no idea how to ask. Even though he’d come in from the balcony and not the door, it still seemed kind of rude to just demand to know what he was doing here._

_“Where are your parents?” Batman asked, still frowning around the apartment as if he had somehow missed seeing them._

_“France,” Timi blinked._

_“They couldn’t get back for your birthday?”_

_Timi shrugged. “Father’s been on the waiting list to see the cave paintings of Lascaux for six years; he finally got his chance to go in. My parents wanted me to keep up with my studies over summer, so they thought I shouldn’t go with them.”_

_“Oh,” if it hadn’t been Batman in front of her, she’d have called the twist of his mouth ‘bewildered’. “Did they send you something nice for your birthday?”_

_“Mother gave me subscriptions to the Gotham Historical Architecture Society and Cryptography International,” Timi replied readily. “She wants me to submit some essays. She thinks I should uphold the family tradition of scholarship. Father said he’d get some photos of Lascaux because he knows I like photography. Oh, and Mrs. Mac bought me some flowers,” she brightly pointed out the cheery bunch of crocuses taking up space on the coffee table. “That was nice of her. She didn’t have to do that. Plus, they said I could watch whatever I wanted on TV just for tonight.”_

_For a microsecond, Bruce’s face emerged from behind Batman, looking_ hilariously _baffled. “…_ Destroy All Monsters _?” he said eventually._

_“I know it’s old,” Timi mumbled as she sat back down on the couch. “But I like them.” She looked down at her hands and willed herself not to fidget. This whole affair was getting more and more awkward. She didn’t know what he was doing here, and she wasn’t quite brave enough to ask. She also didn’t know what else to do instead. She didn’t really have any food for guests that wasn’t granola or something. She didn’t have a protocol that fit the situation and was floundering accordingly._

_The way Batman looked around the apartment made Timi acutely aware of every speck of dust and stray cookie crumb, but he offered no commentary. To her surprise, he sat down on the couch; it creaked under the weight of the armour. “Phone please?” he held out a gauntleted hand._

_Bewildered, Timi handed him her phone. Did he need an untapped communications line from a random phone? Timi would be hard pressed to name any better ghosted equipment than what he regularly carried, but he’d also taught her that a good strategist had to be unpredictable._

_Coming here in the middle of the night to borrow her phone certainly hadn’t been on any of her possibility lists. Ever._

_Bereft of any other option, Timi turned back to the movie to let him work. Feeling embarrassed but doing it anyway, Timi shyly slid the plate of cookies closer to him. “Sorry, they might be a little stale,” she mumbled. “Um… my mother’s diet plan only allows for a cookie a day and that’s all that gets delivered. I, uh, had to save them up.” Then she sewed her lips shut and willed herself not to dig the hole any deeper._

_Batman paused in his typing but didn’t comment._

_Then, wonder of wonders, he actually took a cookie. Timi crossed her fingers that it wasn’t a stale one, but he didn’t seem to mind it. Considering he had the Miracle of the Alfred Baked Goods to go home to, this was no small thing._

_Truthfully, they weren’t very good cookies in any case, for all they paid top dollar to the food service. They were serviceable, but not much more. Still, Timi looked forward to every one she got. Timi had so few things that weren’t necessary, that could be just frivolous and not mandatory, that she hoarded whatever she could when she had them._

_She surreptitiously watched Batman out of the corner of her eye. He really was scowling impressively at her phone. He must be on a difficult case._

_“Did you know the Godzilla suit was stolen from Toho once?” Batman asked her, not looking up from his phone. “One of them, anyway.”_

_“What, really?” Timi turned to look at the screen. “That thing is two hundred pounds!”_

_“Stolen from a garage in ‘92,” Batman told her. “It was found on the shores near Tokyo Bay. Nearly frightened a little old lady to death when she found it.”_

_Timi considered that, before giggling a little. “Poor lady! I don’t blame her. If I saw something that looked like a mutant corpse while I was just minding my own business, I’d have a heart attack too. Even in Gotham!”_

_“Hn,” Batman was still typing away, but his mouth was more relaxed now. “I wore a suit like that when I was training,” he said idly._

_Timi nearly gave herself whiplash. “You_ what _?!”_

_Batman nodded like he hadn’t just upended the universe. “Two hundred and fifty pounds worth, including a hood piece. Restricted field of vision. Restricted movement. That was the first problem I encountered when I made the armour; I’d been trained to be the finest physical fighter, but my training had been either bare skin or minimal armour. I was too fast, too light. My calculations and my aim were always off because I was used to fighting without full armour and my first generations of full armour were… well, heavy. I had to train myself to fight well in it, because of it even. Trade speed for heft. Re-learn moving efficiently under restrictions; even in terms of vision, because the cowl restricts that to a degree, too.”_

_“For six months I tottered around the cave in the_ ugliest _, bulkiest rubber suit you can imagine. It was horrible. It was hot — I passed out multiple times from the heat and Agent A used to wring about two cups of sweat out my body suit afterwards. It was awful to wear. It chafed and choked; I could barely walk. Once I stumbled into the pool — good thing Agent A was there to help lever me out of the suit, or I’d have drowned and that would have been that.”_

_Timi absorbed this silently._

_Then she burst out laughing, curling over herself in mirth. She knew she shouldn’t laugh like this, it was undignified, but just the image of Bruce stumbling around the Cave in a makeshift monster suit…. She could either laugh or explode._

_“Sorry, sorry,” she wiped away tears. “I shouldn’t laugh, it sounds perfectly awful.” She was still giggling as she said it though, and against her will she choked out, “Batzilla.”_

_“You should have seen Agent’s A’s face,” Batman’s voice was dry. “He used to cut out little paper skyscrapers to put over the marker cones on the obstacle course.”_

_That set Timi off again. That was hilarious. “So, um, do you like Godzilla?” she essayed once she’d composed herself._

_“Not as much as I used to,” Batman grunted. “I do have a great deal of respect for the actors in the suit, though. I suppose if I like it at all, it’s because Godzilla would be… an easy problem to solve. What about you?”_

_Thrown by this unexpected curiosity from him, Timi considered. “I do. Um… I watch them with my father sometimes, when he’s free. My father is really smart,” Timi confessed. “Like, really brilliant and um, he… It’s not always easy to get him to talk to me because he’s not very interested in kid’s stuff. He doesn’t like teaching very much. He says he hates having to explain things to people because they’re always so obvious to him. But he doesn’t mind watching Godzilla with me, when he has the time. We can talk about it and stuff.”_

_Batman turned to look at her thoughtfully. “I’m sorry they couldn’t make it for your birthday.” He said softly._

_Timi shrugged. “It’s okay. We don’t really celebrate birthdays anyway. Besides, I’m having fun. I’ve got cookies and Godzilla,” Timi beamed. “I can eat sugar_ and _ponder how cultures create monsters to cope with fear. Well, monsters and heroes. Father would be proud. Mother would tell me to drop the sugar because I need to manage my weight, but she always says that.”_

_Batman looked her up and down, askance, at that._

_Timi didn’t know what it was, but the words were flowing easier now. There wasn’t the usual tension in the room between them. “I like all of them, but this is my favourite because Godzilla gets to be the hero. I kind of feel sorry for Godzilla when he’s the bad guy. Stupid, huh?”_

_“Why?”_

_Timi shrugged. “Nobody likes him. I mean, I get why and everything. But, I don’t know,” Timi’s smile was wistful. “It seems a bit harsh to be disliked by everyone just because you’re there. It’s not like he asked to be a giant monster. It’s not really his fault.”_

_“Hn,” Batman made a considering noise and took another cookie._

_Batman stayed a surprisingly long while after that, patiently listening to her repeat the things her father had taught her about Godzilla even though Timi was pretty sure she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know. Eventually the Mission called him back into the mire of Gotham, but he wished her a good night before he left._

_Timi couldn’t stop smiling. It had been a weird but good night._

_The next morning a courier came by and delivered two packages._

_One was an immense cookie bouquet that smelled of Alfred’s miracle recipes, complete with a card that wished her all the best in Alfred’s impeccable calligraphy. Those cookies were about a thousand times better than the sad little freeze-dried treat packs that came with the food service._

_The second was a data stick with a little bat emblem stamped on it. Eager and curious, Timi plugged it into her computer and waited for the exe files to run._

_The Bat Computer OS lit up her screen._

_Timi’s mouth dropped open._

_She’d been given access to the Bat Cloud._

_The first file on the induction list had a pop up which said ‘EYES ONLY — under no circumstances are you to ever show this to Nightwing or any members of the Justice League.’_

_She hit ‘okay’, enthralled._

_Then she fell off her chair and laughed for half an hour straight at the old, poorly shot video file of Bruce in a rubber Batzilla suit, fumbling his way through a maze of little paper skyscrapers while Alfred sarcastically applauded in the background._

_It was the best thing she’d ever seen._

_For years afterwards, whenever she felt depressed or her failures started to gnaw at her, she’d watch the file and feel ten thousand times better about herself._

_But she kept her promise and never showed it to anyone else. It stayed just between them._

*

Bruce woke up. The day had taken as much of a toll as any battle, and somewhere in watching his daughter sleep he’d slipped into a state somewhere between a trance and a doze.

Timi hadn’t moved a muscle. She was exactly where they’d left her, still and huddled.

It was all wrong.

Timi was famous for sprawling out when she slept, body in constant motion trying to keep up with her mind. She was also, Bruce thought ruefully, famed for her ability to sleep _anywhere_. Bruce couldn’t count the number of heart attacks she’d given him upon finding her limp form in the oddest places — the middle of hallways, curled up in the kitchen cabinets and once, infamously, draped over an I beam twenty stories up, looking for all the world like she’d simply collapsed where she stood.

Bruce kept telling himself to do something about her coffee intake. She was better about energy drinks these days because she had a genuine aversion to sickly sweet flavours; she usually only drank _them_ when it was that or literally drop. But coffee? Get between her and the cup and be prepared to lose a finger.

She hated sweets, and loved dark bitter chocolate. She loved red, glittery shoes. She loved cats and horses and had been enthralled with the chance of finally learning to ride one. While she’d suffer going clubbing if Steph or Cass invited her out, she’d prefer a hundred times over climbing up on the roof to chart stars when nights were clear. She was just as avid a student of history as he was; their favourite shared past time was hitting each other with weird, historical factoids apropos of nothing, to the bewilderment of anybody listening. She could turn skateboarding into a dance even though she’d hated ballet. She never _played_ video games; she stared at the gameplay for about ten minutes, picked up a controller and would simply go through the game, all the way to the end in one take, and then blink in bafflement about why this was apparently such a big deal.

Bruce’s heart hurt. There were so many things he knew about his daughter, little factoids and rituals and sweet, funny, adorable quirks. He tucked the knowledge of them safely inside of him just like he did with his other children. He’d thought those things meant she knew she was home here. That she was loved and valued and treasured.

He couldn’t believe he’d dropped the ball so badly for so long.

A twitch right at the edge of his awareness had him looking around to face Cass, his other beloved daughter. She was in her workout clothes and her hair was damp. The others must all have come back. Time had moved forward in a blink; Bruce had sat with Timi all night until the small hours and never even realised.

Cass cupped his face with one small hand and a gentle smile, her face a recital of sadness and kindness and empathy. She forgave him for his crimes, at least.

He kissed her knuckles. “Quiet night?”

A shrug. Standard, nothing to report. Good. None of them were ready for a doomsday at the moment. Cass patted him on the head for his automatic worry and then went over to Timi’s bed. Her lips turned downwards, full of regret, then firmed with determination.

“We’re going to fix it,” Bruce promised her.

“Yes.”

Cass gently tugged off the cooling blanket since the temperature reading was thankfully normal, then clambered into the bed itself, curling around her sister’s limp form like a mother cat. Timi didn’t stir.

Then she — quite imperiously — shooed Bruce away. “Go. Dick.”

“Well consider me told,” Bruce replied to this edict ruefully. Cass was usually right about this kind of thing. Timi would be under for a few hours yet, and Bruce could do some damage control on the other children in the meantime. If they were going to fix it, it would take all of them. Timi would be safe with her most ardent, protective sibling. Anyone trying to disturb Timi now would lose a hell of a lot more than a finger.

Speaking of which…

“Incapable, huh?”

Cass nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Set it on fire.”

Bruce considered that carefully before responding. “Would you like a pony?”

Cass shooed him out again, silently laughing.

The joke was laid on thick, but Bruce’s feelings about _that_ were pretty thin. He locked it away; there were more immediate problems to hand.

Oracle was still nominally at her station, but Babs didn’t have the same sand grain focus in her gaze that Oracle did when fully engaged. She appeared to be winding down for the night, her face mobile with flickering expressions, indicating she was mining a tricky vein of data.

“Anything to report?” Bruce asked her gently.

“On the rare occasion,” Babs lips quirked faintly as she looked at him. “The gods do deign to smile on us. No disasters, breakouts or explosions. The rain was heavy enough to keep people indoors. Even most of the criminals are probably catching up on sleep after the heat wave. Respite seems to be the order of the night.”

“Good,” Bruce sighed, looking over the screen with an expert eye.

“We forget the old ones, don’t we?”

Bruce looked back at her.

Babs raised her eyebrows at him. “The old truths. We know them and respect them and use them; then we get complacent and forget. Still waters, Bruce. We of all people should know how deep they run.”

Bruce grimaced. It was true. How long had it taken them to start accepting everything Timi gave them at face value and never look beneath the surface? Timi, whom they _knew_ never showed exactly what she felt. She was quiet, self-contained, reserved. They’d known it.

Known it and forgotten it.

“I’m going to fix it,” Bruce intoned. He was. If it took the rest of his life, he would somehow fix it.

“ _We’re_ going to fix it,” Babs corrected him archly, then hesitated before continuing. “But you need to realise just how deep this goes. You need to realise there are some things we _won’t_ be able to take back… or give back. And if she decides after all this that she doesn’t want the Mission anymore, you need to respect that, Bruce. No silly mind games, no guilt trips. You can’t take advantage of her compliance; we’ve all done that more than enough.”

Bruce felt a lurch in his heart. “You think she’d leave?”

Babs shrugged at this bombshell. “I’m prepared for any possibility, let’s just put it like that. Honestly, one of my biggest regrets was not offering her Batgirl when Stephanie took over as Robin and Timi was looking after her father. Cass was gone; out in the world trying to make sense of her origins. I suppose I thought it wrong to just take the mantle off her in absentia.” Babs pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. “I doubt Cass as she was then would have noticed. It would have meant a lot to Timi, though. Timi was as much my protégé as yours. I was just as responsible for abandoning her as anyone else.”

“I doubt she would have taken it,” Bruce murmured. Not Timi, so careful about infringing on someone else’s space. Timi had always nourished the hope that Cass would return to them once she had figured out who and what she was.

“Probably not,” Babs agreed levelly. “But the act of offering would have meant something.”

Bruce grunted an assent.

“Bruce,” Babs continued, her voice taking on a steely note. “I want you to know that I’m only telling you this because Steph saw it too and she _will_ ask questions until she gets answers. Timi has a scar,” Babs gestured to her torso, right under her left breast. “Upper left quadrant. It’s not in any of the medical files. Stab wound at the base, but lengthened via surgical incision — which is _odd_ , Bruce. Even back alley surgeons do keyhole surgeries nowadays unless they can’t avoid it. There’s no record of the procedure anywhere that I can find on any medical database I can access.”

Bruce felt a chill. “Timi had major surgery in the past year? Where? And for what?”

Babs frowned. “The where I’m still working on. The what stumped me too, until I thought to check the Wayne Enterprises employee records,” Babs turned back to the screens and pulled up a file. “Timi’s close lipped about her life but extremely conscientious about her paperwork.”

Bruce felt himself rock on his feet at his scanned the innocuous insurance form. “ _Hydroxyurea is a cancer drug_!” he wheezed, too panicked to shout. _Used for leukaemia_ , his damned encyclopedia of a mind brought up. _Or melanomas, or metastatic, inoperable ovarian cancer or squamous cell carcinomas…_

Babs held up a hand. “It’s also used to treat thrombocytosis, which is a condition common in nineteen percent of patients who’ve had a recent splenectomy. It would also explain the amoxicillin and the mandatory vitamin supplements. She _fine_ , Bruce. I called Leslie, she agrees with that diagnosis and she’s ready when you are to give Timi an actual scan.”

Bruce somehow managed to fall and land in a chair. “She doesn’t have a _spleen_. My little girl is missing a major organ, she’s immunocompromised, she—”

“Bruce,” Babs voice sliced his panic in two. “She’s been dealing with it — medically appropriately and with care. You, me, all of us have walked out there held together with spit and piss; she’s in no worse danger than any of us have been in the past. Besides, the body can go back to normal function in as little as two years post removal. Unlike, say, a broken back.”

Bruce scowled at her, but he had to concede that point. He was the last person in the world to take issue with someone fighting at less than a hundred percent.

“Don’t you dare,” Babs ordered him. “Presume to take anything off her until you know what _she_ needs.”

Bruce ran his hands through his hair, despair and terror churning inside him. “I don’t understand,” he whispered eventually. “I don’t understand how any of this happened.”

“Then before you fix it,” Babs advised him. “You’d better go find out.”

Bruce nodded and rose. It was better to take steps than sit here and reel from the blow. He forcibly pulled the Detective to the forefront. He was on a case. He needed information. “Schedule…”

“Already done.”

Bruce squeezed her shoulder and left to take on the Manor.

Emerging from the Cave was like leaving outer space. Past the entrance the world became a seething tangle of noise — the roar of rain, the drumbeat of thunder, the familiar shifts and creaks of the house itself, breathing in the damp and chilling down after the heat.

Bruce felt the engine of his drive falter as he stood at the top of the stairs. Parts of him — a big part indeed — wanted to turn around and march back down to the med bay and be there for Timi, as if hours of attention would somehow soak up the ocean of his other failures. Another part wanted to start calling in every doctor he knew. Another still wanted to suit up, get in the Batplane and wreak an endless swathe of havoc upon Ra’s Al Ghul for _daring_ …

But that part of him was locked up tight. It could _wait_.

Every new revelation brought with it a new failure, a new sin he had no idea he’d committed through inattention and just sheer obliviousness. He _would_ fix it. But he was less and less certain on where he could even start, given the magnitude of it all.

He was lost.

There was only one man who had ever been able to help him when things were as bad as this.

Bruce detoured from going up to the personal wing and headed for the kitchen. He was pretty sure that, yes, the lights were on. Alfred tended to push through guilt and worry with work.

Alfred was indeed baking — something with dark chocolate, judging from the delicious smell. He was using the big kitchen table to methodically assemble a moderately complicated looking device.

Bruce looked it over in some surprise. “A cellulite film projector?”

“Miss Timi ordered it,” Alfred explained. “The picture and lens quality has been extensively modified, but the basic premise of the mechanics is largely the same. I believe it would have been her intention to assemble it tonight, to be ready for tomorrow.”

“Tom—oh,” Bruce suddenly got it. “It was for her Extravaganza Day.” He felt a stone lodge in his heart as he looked at it. She’d said she wanted to go see a movie when she’d been asked, hadn’t she? The others had decried it as boring. Timi loved to prove people’s assumptions wrong. “Need any help?”

“No thank you, sir,” Alfred replied primly, screwing on a panel. “It is merely a matter of reading the assembly guide. Of all the people in the household, I think I am the one most likely to be able to manage following instructions.”

Bruce barked out a laugh despite himself, before slumping wearily into a chair. “That will never be possible to refute, Alfred.”

In short order, Bruce was supplied with a cool iced tea and a still-warm dark chocolate raspberry muffin. He ate mechanically, more or less without tasting it, but he did eat because he understood the necessity of supplying Alfred with a purpose. The old man was just as upset as the rest of them.

“How did I do it, Alfred?” Bruce broke the heavy silence softly. “I always tried to be good to my children, to make sure they have everything they need. I… I know how hard this life is. I tried my best to show them that it wasn’t all bad, that you could have some good times, some rewards to go with the work. That’s the whole reason I even dreamed up Extravaganza Week. Dick’s life was turning into nothing but training, he was getting so _serious_. Being happy came so naturally to Dick, I didn’t want him to lose that. And Jason? Jason had been deprived of so much that he’d needed, that he’d deserved. I wanted him to learn to ask for what he wanted, to stop scaling down his expectations. He deserved the world. I didn’t want to be like the people who’d trained me to either of them.”

He hadn’t been. With Dick and Jason he hadn’t been some tyrant taskmaster. He’d trained them, yes, and some of the assignments were difficult and challenging, yes, but they’d always been interspersed with… fun. Bruce reckoned he knew every single all-hours diner in Gotham and could rank them by milkshake alone. He still kept access codes to after-hours at the zoo, most of the museums, and a couple of fine arts galleries because Jason had had a startling and exquisite sense for good art that bordered on savantism at twelve, especially given his roots deep in the Bowery. Bruce had known the kind of life he was getting them into and taken every pain, every possible measure, to make sure they knew it wasn’t all doom and loss. Through teaching them, he also taught himself.

“But Timi?” Bruce stared at his hands. “What did she get? Six years, Alfred. Six straight years of work and drudgery and none of the _other_ side. No Extravaganza Week for _her_ ,” he clenched his fists. “No milkshakes or midnight gallery trips, no taking the Batmobile out to the test track and letting her fly. I treated her like she was a little robot.”

“When young Master Jason died,” Alfred replied slowly over his own iced tea. “I confess I was deeply concerned. You cut every person you could out of your life, even me to an extent. You had chosen to go on without love; a thing without which the Mission would not exist at all. I felt it was only a matter of time until you broke in ways that no one could repair, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. You _wanted_ to go into an unfeeling darkness. You could not treat Miss Timi like you treated your other birds. You resented Miss Timi. You resented her all the way to your bones at first, because _she wouldn’t let you go_. She was a blazing light that wouldn’t let you disappear into the dark. God help me that I allowed it, Master Wayne,” Alfred told him grimly. “But god bless her for doing it anyway.”

Bruce stared at him. “Barbara thinks she might leave, after all this. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to.”

“Do you want her to?” The question was remarkably pointed.

“ _No_.”

Alfred took a sip of tea. “I have the utmost respect for Miss Barbara’s intelligence and insight,” he declared. “But she has your habit of bracing for the worst in every possible scenario. Wise, perhaps, given your respective callings, but in this case perhaps unwarranted.”

“You think there’s a chance we can fix it?” Bruce would be lying if he claimed a glimmer of hope didn’t inch upwards slightly.

Alfred pursed his lips, considering. “There are two things that can be served, Master Wayne. A cause,” Alfred’s long fingers traced the table. “Or a person. It has been my experience that those who serve people may readily understand those that serve causes, but the reverse is seldom true. After all, whether you succeed in service to a cause is irrelevant to the cause itself; the cause, the ideal, remains pristine. People, on the other hand,” Alfred looked at him. “People are messy and disappointing. Unfaltering service to such manifest imperfection is a difficult thing to explain to even the sympathetic observer.”

Bruce looked away.

“I cannot speak for Miss Timi,” Alfred continued. “But I do understand her. I do not think it is an overstatement to declare that Miss Timi has never had cause to regret the choices she made in regards to her service to you. For indeed, I have never truly had regrets either.”

Bruce looked back at him. “I don’t deserve it.”

Alfred shrugged. “Gotham is where everyone gets what they don’t deserve, Master Wayne,” he said gently. “It’s not always a bad thing.”


	17. Resolutions

_It had been a rough, tricky little night. They’d had a planned raid delayed by muggings and attempted rapes, surveillance checks ruined by bad intel, and now they were chasing down Cluemaster and his pack of minions to whatever madcap, idiotic trials he wanted to put them through this time._

_When Robin finally pinned the purple suited, purple masked figure, it finally felt like the night was going right for a change. “Finally,” Timi panted. “A minion more my size!”_

_“Hands off!” the figure writhed like an angry snake, pinned face down_

_Female, Robin noted. The suit was handmade, judging from the stitching, but it wasn’t armour, exactly. “Sorry, no can do,” Robin replied to this, cheerfully wrenching one arm around. “Honestly, what is this thing made of, suede? Worst possible material, suede. It stains as soon as you look at it.”_

_“Shut up!” the lady-minion snapped. “And let go! I wasn’t doing anything!”_

_“Eeeeh!” Robin buzzed. “Wrong answer! The right answer is ‘you were dogging Cluemaster’s steps like an overgrown puppy and you’re now rethinking your life choices for five hundred, Alex.”_

_“Overgrown_ what _?!” she shrieked._

_“Hey, I call it like I see it. You’ve been in his shadow consistently for the past month and a half. You’re on camera at a bunch of his crime scenes. You’re either a minion or a groupie. Really, given the variety of villains in this town, you_ could _aim higher.”_

_“Listen to me you, you braindead Batman disciple! I’m not helping Cluemaster! I’m trying to stop him! I wouldn’t have to do that at all if you and the Bat were any good at your jobs!”_

_Robin hesitated. “Why are you trying to stop him?”_

_“None of your business!” she snapped._

_“You run around in a mask in this town, that makes it_ my _business, thank you,” Robin retorted. “Speaking of which,” she pinned a knee against a spine so she could free a hand. “Let’s see what’s hiding under here, shall we.” She grabbed the full-face mask and yanked at it._

_“You’re getting_ nothing _from me, buddy!” the purple suited menace roared in return, managed with one desperate, adrenaline soaked buck to thrown Robin off balance enough to twist around._

_Robin only managed to catch a flash of bright gold hair before a stray brick slammed into the side of her face, knocking her clean over._

_The purple suited figure angrily darted to her feet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, asshole? Running around pinning helpless girls…”_

_“Helpless?!” Robin mumbled incredulously as she cupped a hand around her rapidly swelling face._

_“…tearing their clothes off…”_

_“Wait!” Robin yelled above the torrent of outrage. “Wait a minute. What, exactly, did you_ think _I was going to do to you?”_

_“You’re a boy pinning a girl in a filthy back alleyway in Gotham,” purple suit spat back. “Take a damn guess!”_

_Robin stared at her. Then she burst out laughing._

_“Hey!” the other girl sounded less enraged but more offended. “What’s so funny about that? It could happen! I’m pretty hot stuff under all this, not that you’re ever gonna find out!”_

_“You might be the most beautiful woman in the word,” Robin giggled as she rose. “But you sure as anything aren’t the most observant.”_

_Purple suit stared at her in consternation. Robin held out her hands and waited._

_She got it. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “You’re a_ girl! _”_

_“Beeeeep, correct answer._ ”

_“But Robin’s a boy!” she seemed almost insulted. “He’s always been a boy before!”_

_“Robin is Robin,” Robin grinned at her bewilderment. “Or are you saying girls shouldn’t wear masks and capes? That’s an interesting take coming from you.”_

_“Come to think of it,” Purple suit put a finger to her chin. “You are a lot smaller than I thought you’d be.”_

_Robin scowled at her. “Robin is Robin. There’s no height requirement…”_

_“Just as well for you, then.”_

_“_ And _,” Robin ignored this. “Robin doesn’t do things like that. No Robin has_ ever _done something like that.” Quick as a speedster she had purple suit pinned to the opposite alley wall. “You can denigrate my size and my gender and my blazing suit palette all you want but don’t you dare ever insult the name. Got it?”_

_“Okay, okay,” purple suit held up her hands, taken aback by the sheer ferocity pouring from her tiny opponent._

_This girl didn’t understand how important the Robin legacy was. How many depended on it._

_Robin let her go, visibly calming herself._

_“So you’re the Girl Wonder, then,” purple suit said after a moment’s silence. “I never knew girls could be Robins. If I’d known that I might have applied for the job!”_

_“You want to be a mask?” Robin asked curiously. Her throbbing face warned her to keep her guard up, but most of the hostility was long gone. “Because of Cluemaster? Did he hurt your family or something?”_

_“Yeah,” purple suit’s voice was bitter as new lemons. “He hurt them all right. That’s why I’m spoiling all his plans. It was working too, until you got in the way!”_

_“Do you have a plan for capturing him?” Robin asked her curiously._

_“Not really.”_

_“Then what you’re doing is really dangerous,” Robin told her seriously. “If you provoke him, you’re the one he’s going to turn on. If you don’t have a plan to either deal with that or avoid it, he’ll likely kill you dead.”_

_“I have an insurance policy,” purple suit informed her snippily. “And also? You’re calling_ my _running around in a mask dangerous, Miss Kettle? I’ve seen what you get up to most nights.”_

_“I,” Robin informed her loftily. “Have contingency plans for most situations._ And _back up.”_

_“Didn’t stop you getting a brick to the face, though, did it?” purple suit was definitely smirking under the mask._

_Robin huffed. Her cheek felt tight and puffy; almost against her own will, she prodded it._

_“Look, uh,” purple suit spoke up. “Sorry about the brick. It’s kind of visceral getting pinned to the ground when you’re a girl.”_

_Robin nodded. That was absolutely true, she knew from experience. “What will you do now?”_

_Purple suit shrugged. “Wait for him to go out and start the whole thing again. He will,” she sighed. “He always does. He can’t help it.”_

_“And you’ll keep going out,” Robin guessed shrewdly. “To stop him. To bring him home.”_

_“I guess so.”_

_Robin thought about this before tentatively saying, “Would you like a milkshake?”_

_The other girl stared at her. “Is that some weird vigilante code thing?”_

_“No,” Robin replied slowly. “That’s me asking you if you’d like to go get a milkshake. There’s this really cool diner two blocks over that has an under the counter cape discount. Batman saved the owner’s family once, you know.”_

_“What, really?” purple suit asked gleefully. “That’s a thing? I didn’t know we could get free milkshakes in this gig! Count me in!” She paused when Robin extended a hand to her._

_“Hi,” Robin said politely. “I’m Robin. Nice to meet you.”_

_“Spoiler,” Spoiler told her cheerfully, shaking it. “Likewise, bricks aside.”_

_*_

Bruce was rejuvenated after his talk with Alfred. Ideas and plans were starting to kick around in his brain. But he couldn’t put anything into effect alone; he’d need the full support and assistance of all the family members. He decided to strike while the iron was hot since he doubted any of them were getting sleep.

His hypothesis proved absolutely correct when he crossed the reception hall to get to the main staircase and was surprised by Damian coming in through the front door, dressed in loose pants and a tank top and soaking wet from the rain.

He was clutching a cellphone in his hands.

“Damian?” Bruce blinked at him from the foot of the stairs while lightning flashing outside of the windows. “What were you doing out in the wet?”

“Father,” Damian nodded to him as he tried to wring out as much rain as possible, lest he leave wet trails for Alfred to clean up. “I went out to find Drake’s phone.” He held it up and waved it. “She abandoned it in the hedge maze after our… our prank. I had thought to salvage it.”

His youngest was tight faced and pale, dark hair plastered across his stony countenance. He was upset.

Bruce sat down on the bottom steps and reached out a hand. “Let’s take a look.”

Damian obediently joined him on the steps and handed over the phone. “She modded it into a taser,” he muttered. “I suspect it might be entirely fried.”

Bruce was pretty sure it was too; it didn’t react to anything he tried with it. “Hmm. We might have to take it apart and replace the damaged parts. I daresay she has multiple backups; she usually does.”

“Has Drake awoken?”

Bruce shook his head. “She’s sedated pretty heavily, kiddo, on top of what we’re pretty sure is chronic exhaustion. She won’t be awake for a few hours yet.”

“Oh,” Damian absorbed that, face blank.

“She might be convalescing for a while,” Bruce added when Damian seemed uncertain how to proceed. “Her health has been badly affected by overwork. We’ll all need to pitch in and help her to recover.”

Damian’s mouth firmed. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

“We need to make sure she knows she is welcome here, Damian,” Bruce continued.

“I _understand_ ,” Damian’s hands clenched convulsively and then released. “I was the one who precipitated her self-exile; you need not explain my fault to me. I… I will accept what punishment is rightfully accorded to me and hope she will accept this as a restitution.”

For a moment Bruce cursed Talia, the League and every other idiot who’d left their marks on this confused and frightened child. “Damian, while I accept that you weren’t always right or justified in your antipathy towards Timi, I don’t lay the blame for this whole mess on your shoulders. There will be no punishment. You are a child,” Bruce held up a hand to forestall the no doubt furious refutation the boy was about to give him. “You _are_ just a child and children make mistakes. It’s up to the adults to correct those mistakes so that you can go on better and wiser for it, something which both Dick and I must accept responsibility for. We helped you in a great many ways but failed in a critical few. And since we can’t go backwards, all we can do is correct them now. I am happy to hear that you think Timi worthy of an apology. Even just a year ago, we’d never have gotten you to admit that. Two years and you wouldn’t have even seen why it was necessary.”

Damian flushed. “That is true, I suppose,” he murmured.

“Why did you stick Timi in the information booth at the Adoption Day?” Bruce asked him. “Why did you deliberately exclude her from the fun? You had to have a reason. You aren’t trying to replace her anymore — you told me that yourself. I just,” Bruce ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t understand why you’re so determined to dislike her. You have a place here, same as her. One doesn’t diminish the other. You know that.”

Damian looked uncomfortable. “The Day wasn’t organised very intelligently by the Shelter staff. They’d never tried anything that big before and there were all these stupid problems and the animals were getting all stressed. It was annoying. Then Drake showed up late,” Damian looked away. “It seemed like she didn’t really care. I was… angry. Then she organised the food trucks and the extra supplies and it felt like she was laughing at me. She was showing me I was incompetent even though _I_ cared and _she_ didn’t. At least,” Damian admitted. “That’s what it felt like.”

Bruce tried to pick apart that tangle with some care. “You… feel like she took over your Day without asking?”

Damian nodded.

“Even though she made it better?”

Damian grimaced.

Bruce sighed. “Would it help if I explained to you why she does that? Just takes over and organises things without asking?”

Damian looked back at him.

“I technically met Timi before I met Dick, you know,” Bruce told him. “Her parents and I travelled in the same circles and whenever there was a gala or a dinner party the rich set would inevitably trot out a scion or two to show to the crowd. I remember very distinctly seeing the tiniest little dark-haired girl in the mostly wildly inappropriate expensive evening dress coming over to Janet Drake and announcing with perfect clarity that the Masons had just arrived and wished to speak to ‘Mother.’”

“I remember being genuinely astonished when I was told Timianna Drake was only three. I thought she was at least six and she had some sort of genetic issue with her size. ‘My little social secretary’ was what Janet Drake said. It was funny if it was a joke, but not actually funny if it was _real_.”

“And it _was_ real, Damian. She was their little secretary. As soon as she was old enough to operate a phone, she would be helping them book tickets and trips, organising their schedules, that kind of thing. The way she was taught to understand being loved was being useful, in the same way you were taught to understand it by being victorious. You were shaped to lead, son. She was shaped to serve. Neither of you were provided for emotionally very well either way.”

Damian was frowning. “So… when she takes something over she is... simply fulfilling what she believes to be her duty?”

“She believes it’s her job to make sure things function,” Bruce sighed. “If she sees a problem for someone, she corrects it. It’s not because she sees anyone as incapable of doing it themselves, it’s just that she thinks that’s what she’s supposed to do; fix it without asking for direction and never mention it again. In a way, she’s been taught to be happy to be taken for granted. I doubt whether she even considered for a second that your day was organised badly. She just fixes what she sees automatically, compulsively. She can’t help it.”

Damian was silent for a while. “I see,” he said eventually.

Bruce thought maybe he did see. Damian had had to take a long, hard look at the effects of his own conditioning over the last few years. He had a certain amount of perspective on the damage that level of indoctrination does.

“Perhaps she never felt entitled to an Extravaganza Week,” Damian added. “She’s probably never made a List. We should.”

“Should what?”

“Make a list,” Damian insisted. “Of things she might do for an Extravaganza Week. That way we can give her the Week she was entitled to.”

“That’s a nice thought, kiddo,” Bruce replied dryly. “But it’s got to be things _she_ chooses, not something that’s chosen for her.”

“I’m not saying we force her to do anything,” Damian informed him impatiently. “But by your own admission she never considers anything of hers worthy of sharing; she’s there to fix others’ problems, not for them to fix hers. But if we make a list, we can show her we know all the things she likes and would be glad to do them with her, can’t we?”

Huh. “That’s not a bad idea,” Bruce allowed. “How about you get started on the list and then we can all add to it? _After_ you get some sleep. Alright?”

“Yes, Father, I shall.” Damian took the broken phone back. “Are you going to talk to Grayson?”

Bruce nodded.

“Good,” Damian’s mouth turned downwards. “He… he did not speak very much while he was on patrol. He was very upset, even when I said I would accept the blame for taking Robin from Drake and exiling her.”

“Dick’s carrying a lot of burdens,” Bruce allowed. “And he’s also very upset over Timi. I’ll talk to him. It’s going to take all of us to fix this.”

“I understand,” Damian nodded. “I wish you luck. Goodnight, Father.”

He gave his father a voluntary hug, still a pretty rare phenomenon for Damian, and trotted upstairs, looking less pensive.

Bruce contemplated the sound of the pouring rain for a moment. Damian had come a long way in the last three years, even if they were still combing out all the snarls and tangles in his soul from his violent upbringing. Bruce was immensely proud of him.

Bruce rose and followed his son’s path up the stairs and into the personal wing. Damian was in the right frame of mind to help, at least. Bruce could only hope the trend would continue apace.

He was detoured from heading to Dick’s room by the sound of movement from Timi’s. Startled, Bruce opened the slightly ajar door and found Stephanie there, briskly folding clothes by the light of the desk lamp. She looked like she’d been crying.

She flicked him a brief glance but continued folding away. “I made a bit of a mess looking for something to change her into,” Stephanie explained to him. “She doesn’t like people messing with her stuff.”

Bruce nodded and sat down on the desk to survey the dim room. “No photos,” he murmured. “She used to have so many of them pinned up all over the place.” Another red flag unfurled. The room had always been Timi’s, but the bright flashes of personality that used to cover the walls and bookshelves were vastly diminished. If not for a couple of things pinned to the corkboard and scrawled notes covering the whiteboard, this could practically be a hotel room.

“She's been back, what, two months?” Stephanie snorted. “She works sixteen-hour days, Bruce. She doesn’t have time for personal shit. Half her stuff wasn’t even unpacked from her bags. I did that, too.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunted.

“Why did you leave her in charge of the damn company, anyway?” Stephanie asked him abruptly. “She’s fucking sixteen, Bruce. She never even got to finish high school!”

Bruce sighed. “I was still lost in time when that changeover was made, Stephanie. For what they tried to do, Lucius’ and Timi’s plan did work. They kept the League from taking control over an immense font of resources that would have bolstered their cause to the point which they would never be stopped. It was the only strategy available to them at the time. I cannot fault them that.”

“So?” Stephanie threw up her hands. “So _what_? Yes, it worked, bad guys foiled, hurrah! The threat is long gone, Bruce! Why didn’t you take it back? Last time I checked it was still your damn name all over the damn building!”

“Two changeovers in less than a year would have effectively finished what Ra’s started,” Bruce told her. “That world isn’t like wearing a cape. You can’t just punch someone and call it a day. You must build and maintain the trust of a lot of people and you have to move with extreme care lest you lose that trust. Timi excels at networks; she was keeping Wayne Enterprises afloat. Taking it away from her would have destroyed all the work she put in, all the trust she’d built up. Certain people expect her to be inexperienced and incompetent. They’re waiting for her to fail. Me swooping in would have been seen as a confirmation that she couldn’t do the job.”

“No, you swooping in would have been seen as a confirmation that _you_ were doing _your_ damn job!” Stephanie snapped. “That — that right there — is the thing I hate the most. We give Timi all the _shit_ jobs and then turn around and say it’s okay because she does them so well, which is a fucking lie. We do it because it’s convenient and because she can’t say no. Thank you very much Jack and Janet Drake,” Stephanie added bitterly. “Who somehow managed to be both tiger parents _and_ absent parents at the same time. I’ve been at ground zero of the more fucked up spectrum of family dynamics, and even I have to admit that was a hell of a feat.”

“Jack Drake loved her,” Bruce observed mildly, although he winced internally at the brutal assessment of their treatment. “I can’t speak for Janet, but I know Jack loved her.” He’d had that confirmed at gunpoint.

“Yeah, he was all eager to have a crack at fatherhood after he needed someone around to wipe his ass twenty-four seven,” Stephanie sneered. “Oh please, Bruce,” she added to his obvious shock. “Jack never wanted Timi back in his life for her sake. The second he was mobile and writing best sellers, it was back to the good old days of leaving Timi behind in favour of the next shiny new toy. You should watch some of his award acceptance speeches some time; thank you old teachers, thank you old friends, thank you new partner Dana. Not one lousy thank you to the exhausted fifteen-year-old who was essentially his unpaid nurse and probably his fucking ghost writer too, knowing him. Maybe he did love her in a way, but only for what she could do for him. Nothing warms the cockles of a rich bastard’s heart like free labour, I’m told.”

Bruce shook his head. “No, there was something there. She was devastated when he died.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know,” Stephanie slumped onto the bed, all the fire drained out. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms then, were we?”

“Because of Robin,” Bruce nodded.

“She hated my guts for taking it over,” Stephanie nodded. “I actually thought she’d be logical about it. She’s always so cold about some things, I figured that Robin would be no different. She couldn’t be Robin anymore, but _I_ could. I thought she’d be glad that it went to someone she trusted. Boy, she proved me wrong. It took me forever to get her to trust me after that. Sometimes I think she still doesn’t completely. Well, maybe I know it, now,” she added bitterly.

“She was right, you know? I never asked. And I never apologised for not asking,” Stephanie’s eyes dropped to her hands. “I just thought… you know what? I thought she’d be an _adult_. That’s the problem. She acts like a tiny adult all the time. I was actually halfway sure she was an adult with dwarfism at first and you were all just trolling Gotham with the kid sidekick schtick. Jesus, I ragged on her about acting her age and having some fun but when she did act like a normal, selfish, angry teen I turned around and resented the hell out of her for it.”

“People fall into that trap a lot with Timi,” Bruce agreed grimly. “I did as well; more egregiously than you did. I asked her to teach Damian the piano once, when he first came here. Even though he was manifestly violent towards her, I still insisted. She drew out so much good in me,” Bruce admitted roughly. “She always wants to help, always. Putting the two of them together so she could reach him seemed like such an elegant solution at the time.”

“She told you where to stick it, huh?”

“Not in so many words,” Bruce sighed. “But she made it pretty clear where she stood on the matter. I complained to Wonder Woman about her intransigence and Diana sincerely congratulated me on _finally_ getting a normal teenage girl; stubborn, headstrong and disobedient. That’s when it sunk in that asking a thirteen-year-old to be a trauma therapist for a violent ten-year-old wasn’t fair. My expectations of her were completely skewed.”

“Wow,” Stephanie replied frankly. “That’s pretty fucked up, B.”

“You’re not wrong,” Bruce shook his head. “She acts like an adult, so we give her adult jobs. We need to stop doing it. As much as we can at this late stage, anyway.”

Stephanie nodded. “That’s going to be tricky. She’ll read it as a failure on her part. Really, just, _fuck_ her parents, Bruce. If she doesn’t jump higher than Everest, she fails, and if she fails, she’s worthless. That’s genuinely what she believes. That’s Timi Translate — the only algorithm she ever made that was ever dead wrong. Whatever you _think_ you’re telling her, her brain will translate it to ‘Timi’s wrong’. That’s why she’s always right all the time. She triple-thousand checks everything she says, because the assumption is she’s wrong somehow because it’s _her_. Fuck her parents, and you know what? Fuck you too, B, because you didn’t exactly discourage her from thinking that.”

Bruce nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know. I’m planning on making every reparation owed. It’s going to be a group effort, so if you have any ideas start writing them down. We’ll fix it,” he told her fiercely. “All of it.”

“We’d better,” Stephanie agreed.

Bruce reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “Get some sleep once you’re done here.”

“I wonder what she’d think if she knew she was the reason I lasted about five seconds as Robin,” Stephanie snorted. “I couldn’t be _her_. And _she_ was the one you really wanted.”

Bruce nodded. It had been the cataclysmic sticking point in all of their screaming matches at each other during Stephanie’s time as Robin. _Stop asking me to be Timi! I can’t be Timi!_ “I know. For whatever it’s worth, Stephanie, you weren’t a bad Robin and you aren’t a bad hero. You were right. Comparing the two of you wasn’t fair and expecting you to act like she would have was wrong. I just missed her and wouldn’t admit it.”

She was surprised by his candour and gratified by the praise, however late. Bruce nodded and squeezed her shoulder again before turning to go. Then he had a thought that made him turn back. “Conner.”

Stephanie blinked. “Clone boy? What about him?”

“She hesitated over his name,” Bruce replied. “Something about him affected her deeper than all the rest. Do you know why?”

“Um… I don’t know everything,” Stephanie confessed. “Not on speaking terms then, remember? And after that I was kinda dead for a while so I missed most of… whatever it was.”

“But there was something?”

“I know she had a massive crush on him,” Stephanie told him. “Like, really massive and it was kinda funny because she was almost totally oblivious to the fact that it was a crush. It takes her a long time to understand romantic feelings, you know? She has them, but she doesn’t always recognise them straight away. I don’t know a hundred percent, but they might have dated for a while and I _think_ he might have been her first kiss? All I know is that whatever it _was_ , it ended really badly.”

“Because he died,” Bruce said softly.

“No,” Stephanie shook her head. “I think it happened before that. She _never_ talks about it, Bruce. I asked Cass once and even she didn’t know. It’s one thing for her not to tell me, we were on the outs then so we missed a lot of each other’s lives, but if she’s not confiding in her soul sister?” Stephanie shrugged. “My guess is it was a train wreck.”

Bruce nodded grimly and added that to the list as he left.

He had Kryptonite knuckledusters. He could totally fix that problem.

But for now he headed for Dick’s room. He’d like to talk to Jason too, but he wasn’t sure if his second son had come back to the Manor after patrol; he’d just as likely opt for one of his safehouses in Gotham.

Events proved a pleasant surprise; Jason was in Dick’s room, perched up on the window seat with the window open to the steady pour of rain, blowing smoke trails out into the night.

Dick was huddled against his headboard, folded up about as small as he could manage.

Bruce sighed to see it. It was something Dick had done when he was very young and carried through to adulthood; when deep in the throes of pain, he’d fold up into a tight ball.

He did unknot slightly when Bruce came in. “Is she awake?”

Bruce shook his head. “Still sedated. She won’t be up for a few more hours yet. Anything to report?” he asked, since that was a fairly safe opening gambit.

“Muggings, attempted break-ins and one half assed gang war,” Dick shrugged bitterly. “A glorious night by Gotham’s standards.” His mouth twisted and he looked away.

“Dick,” Bruce came forward and perched on the edge of the bed. “You can’t sit here and second guess past mistakes. I do that enough and I’ve never found it to be useful. Timi will be fine. She’s still with us. I think she’ll _stay_ with us if we all work together to make sure she knows she’s welcome here.”

“It’s a nice thought B, but I think that ship might have sailed between her and me,” Dick replied hollowly. “Sailed and shipwrecked. The day I took Robin from her was the day the wall came up. I can’t get her to admit the sky is blue to me these days. She used to tell me everything,” Dick clenched his fists. “Everything. Now it’s like talking to a doll. She never tells me what she thinks, how she feels. I’m beginning to wonder if she ever really did. Oh,” Dick’s eyes flashed fire in the low light. “That reminds me.”

Jason was on his feet in a heartbeat, but Superman wouldn’t have been fast enough to stop Dick’s furious fist smashing into Bruce’s jaw, knocking him clean off the bed onto the floor.

Dick was crouched over him in the next instant, arm pinned across Bruce’s neck, snarling, “If I’d have known for a _second_ that you were doing anything like that to her, for a _second_ , Bruce, I’d have taken her away. Far, far away from you. Then I would have come back and arrested your abusive ass! So _fuck_ you and your fucking platitudes, _Batman_! What the actual _fuck_ was that kind of training, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Jason sighed and grabbed Dick to haul the rigid-with-rage acrobat back and off their mentor. “He needs to be able to talk to answer you, you dumbass. You got all the time in the world to kick the shit outta him if you don’t like what he has to say. Come on.” He bodily hauled Dick to the window seat and pinned him there. “This feels fucked up and backwards,” he muttered to himself.

Bruce huffed. Jason wasn’t wrong. He pulled himself into a sitting position and scooted back until he was resting against the bedside cabinet. “I wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t _what_?” Dick bit out.

“I wasn’t trying to train her, Dick,” Bruce admitted heavily. “Not at first. I thought if I was harsh enough, if she was scared enough, she’d go away and never look back. That’s all I wanted.”

“What the fuck?” Dick nearly shot to his feet and was yanked back down by a tired Jason. “What the actual fuck kind of strategy is _that_? You were a fucking adult, she was an eleven-year-old! All you had to do was tell her to leave!”

“She followed us — you, me and Jason — night after night after night since she turned eight. If I didn’t let her in the Manor, I would have met her on the streets. She knew my identity, I… I don’t know, Dick. I thought it was just hero worship that sent her out there. I thought if I could puncture the veneer of glamour and glory I assumed she saw over everything she did, she’d smarten up and stop trying. I couldn’t be responsible for her. I couldn’t be responsible for _anyone_. That’s what I kept telling myself.”

“Your level of self-delusion beggars fucking belief, Old Man,” Jason sneered. “You save the world and run the biggest superhero enterprise on the planet, and you can’t handle a kid that a breeze could knock over? After handling the two of _us_? Pull the other one, it’s got fucking bells.”

“Jason,” Bruce sighed. “Joker’s status notwithstanding, and all of Talia’s conditioning aside, do you really think — do you actually, truly believe deep down — that I simply went on business as usual after you died?”

Jason opened his mouth, but slowly closed it again as the weight of the question hit him.

“I’m sorry if you think so,” Bruce continued. “I’m sorry for everything I might have done to make you think so. And I’m also sorry because I’m afraid that it just wasn’t so. I was a broken man, Jason. If you’d wanted the Joker dead, all you’d have had to do was wait. It would have been a matter of time. A lot of bodies would have followed after. Maybe even yours, if I’d managed to live that long. You think my Rule is worthless? You’ve never seen me without it.”

The most chilling thing was his matter-of-fact admittance that he’d have probably killed his own son, even knowing him as the catalyst for his downfall. Emotionally it was a mess, but cold logic dictated only one outcome could be clean — the same law applied to everyone equally.

Batman was all. No nothing, no halfway. All.

“Oh, fuck you,” Jason muttered, half-heartedly defensive, and turned back to stare into the night. “It’s too fucking early for any of this shit.” He got out another cigarette with shaken fingers.

“If you’d taken her away, Dick, I’d have let you. I’d have been happy, insofar as I could feel anything at all,” Bruce told his frozen eldest son. “I’d have respected you for it. But Timi would have wriggled free and come right back. She _believes_. Even more than I do, some days. I don’t know why or how, but she does. She believes in _us_. Not the Mission or the rule of law. Just us.”

“Just you,” Dick muttered, the fight draining out of him. “Just you, Bruce. Not me. Not anymore.”

“Fucking hell, Dickie,” Jason snorted. “You are the fucking King of the Pity Party, you do fucking know that, don’t you? If I weren’t totally sure you’d scuttle back up like a fucking spider, I’d pitch you out of this goddamn window rather than listen to the endless bitchin’ and moanin’. So Timi knows you ain’t perfect, it’s a hard lesson for everyone. At least she kept her needy whining to herself!”

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Jason! Are you in the least bit _upset_?!” Dick roared to this needling.

“No,” Jason retorted mildly. “Because unlike you assholes, _my_ conscience is, mostly, clear where Baby Bird is concerned.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dick bolted upright angrily. “You straight up tried to murder her! More than once!”

“Yep, I was an asshole,” Jason agreed readily. “And I ain’t sayin’ I ain’t got a shit tonne of making up to do. But here’s the thing, Dickwing. After all the Pit juice burned out and I was sorta, kinda stable again one of the first things I did was _fucking apologise to her_.”

Dick jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Yep,” Jason butted out his cigarette on the brickwork outside. “I did that. No bullshit excuses. No oh-I’m-just-a-poor-Pit-dipped-boy-and-nobody-loves-me. I straight up, no holds barred said that I was a total fucking asshole, I hurt her for no good reason and I’m sorry. Now, does that clear my debt? Fuck no. But she accepted it. That’s why I get on so well with her now, ain’t it? I mean shit, Dick, you’re standin’ here wailing about your bad decisions, how about you make a start on fucking fixing what you did? It fucking sucks, trust me, but at least it’s useful.”

“She’s _not going to forgive me_!”

“No, you don’t fucking forgive you!” Jason roared right back. “And that’s fucking fine, ‘cause you’re not supposed to! This family is fucking fuelled by unresolved guilt. Keeps us sharp. Did I say I’d forgiven myself? Of course I fucking haven’t. But I made my amends anyway because it _wasn’t about me_ , understand? She felt wronged by you. She deserves to hear you fucking acknowledge it!”

Dick sagged and landed on the floor in a hopeless sit. “I did say I was sorry,” his eyes were shiny. “I _did_. She didn’t want to hear it.”

“Dick,” Bruce broke in. “I only recently realised that when I told Timi that I had to let Damian keep Robin, I never actually told her I was sorry about it. I _was_ sorry, I thought I was apologising because it still hurt her, even though she’d grown so much while I’d been gone, beyond Robin. But what I was actually doing was giving her a list of reasons why she shouldn’t be hurt. ‘Damian would be hurt’ and ‘you’re so much bigger than Robin now’, all that stuff. It was all true, but it wasn’t an apology. I never once said ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Think about it, Dick,” Bruce told him heavily. “Was it really an apology, or was it just a list of reasons why you did what you did so that her emotional response was rendered invalid? Because I’ve looked over my past interactions with her and I’m beginning to not like what I see, even when I wasn’t at my worst. She was raised to be compliant, especially when people tell her she’s wrong. We have all taken advantage of that without realizing it.”

Dick crumpled even further inwards. “Shit,” he whispered. “Shit shit _shit_.”

“That’s the thing,” Bruce nodded as the lesson hit home. “It’s not about Extravaganza Weeks or Robin or overwork. It’s deeper than that. We take so much of her for granted and we can’t do that anymore, Dick. If we’re going to fix this, we need to do a complete overhaul on how we treat her and each other in turn. I’m the one mostly to blame,” Bruce admitted heavily. “I set the tone. I set the standard by which she — and only she — was judged. I need you to help me with this, Dick, because she’s never going to believe I would lower that standard now. Whether you think you deserve it or not, I think she’ll still listen to you. You were always her first port of call when it came to emotional issues. Just like the rest of us, really.”

Dick was huddled up, slowly rocking back and forth.

“Come on Dickwing,” Jason took another drag. “It ain’t about you, remember? Man up and say you’re sorry. If you don’t think that’s good enough, that’s your problem. It’s about what _she_ needs.”

Dick uncurled a little. “You’re right. I’ll try.” He was still crying, but the tilt of his mouth suggested he wasn’t as paralysed by the upheaval as he had been. It might be enough for him to try to pick the shattered bits of his heart back up.

Dick Grayson had to do that too much. 

“In the meantime, Damian thinks we should plan an Extravaganza Week for her,” Bruce added. “He’s making her a List.”

“Oh Jesus,” Dick barked hoarsely. “You did explain—”

“I did,” Bruce replied dryly. “He had a pretty reasonable argument for why _we_ should be the ones to write it instead of her. It gives him purpose, at any rate, and it _will_ be somewhere to start. But we must keep working at this. We must make sure she knows she’s one of us. I’m scared for her. I’m worried if this keeps up, she’ll kill herself trying to prove herself worthy. She’s already lost her spleen; I don’t want her to lose anything else.”

“ _What?!_ ” Dick shrieked.

Jason just said, “Oh, yeah. That.”


	18. Determination

_Robin kept her careful grip on the cardboard box even as Batman chewed her out for entering the warehouse when she was supposed to be “strictly on surveillance!”_

_It was true she’d disobeyed orders, but some idiot goon had rammed a forklift into some other idiot goon’s forklift and then bashed into something liquid and flammable while the cigarette dropped from his mouth. She’d seen it all happen in horror from her perch two buildings down, watching the feed from the remote cameras._

_Batman had crossed his arms over his chest and was staring down at her while in the background the warehouse still burned merrily, sending a plume of toxic smoke high into the air of Gotham. Fire trucks were on the scene. So were the police, processing a bunch of trussed up but unharmed criminals taken safely from the flames._

_Robin was covered in soot and stank of smoke. It was a good thing her hair was already short because she’d have lost anything longer to the conflagration. As it was, she was grateful her parents were out of town right now because her singed eyebrows would be awfully hard to explain._

_She was a mess. She gripped the box harder, spine rigid._

_“Why did you go back in?!” Batman didn’t shout, but the stormy, cracked growl was about as close as he got. He jabbed a hand at her. “I advised the warehouse was clear, there was no earthly reason for you to go back in there!”_

_“I had to,” Robin insisted. “I was responsible for—”_

_“You were not responsible for saving those gang members,” Batman unbent slightly. “Though you did act correctly in assisting them to safety. But you were advised it was clear and_ then _you went back in. For evidence?” Batman shook his head. “No amount of evidence is worth your life. If you’re going to stay out in the field, I have to know you aren’t going to be reckless. We take enough chances with our lives as it is. Those lives are precious. I can’t have a Robin in the field who would waste hers.”_

_That was a reliable enough spear through her heart. She opened her mouth to give her defence, but was interrupted by the arrival of Nightwing, who dropped onto the scene like he was in a performance piece._

_“Calluci’s boys are all bagged and tagged, boss,” he told Batman, cheerfully ignoring the tension in the air. “No fatalities, but a heck of a lot of owies. Robin, did you really have to chain gang them all together before getting them out of the warehouse?”_

_“I couldn’t carry them all! I figured they’d help each other if it meant they all lived. It worked, didn’t it?” Robin was extremely nettled by the perceived criticism. Zip tying the ankles of that many beefy men onto a grapple line while they were fighting her hadn’t been easy._

_“Yep, sure did!” Nightwing said cheerfully. “Pretty ingenious on the fly thinking, Robin. I never would have thought of that in a million years. How about you, B?”_

_Batman was glowering at both of them, but conceded. “Yes, it was a brilliant workaround. However,” he jabbed a finger at Robin as she straightened up from the praise. “You should not have gone back_ into _the warehouse when it was clear all occupants had gotten to safety.”_

_“Yeah, I was kinda wondering about that,” Nightwing was curious. “Was there evidence? Did you think there were still people in there?”_

_“It doesn’t matter!” Batman snapped. “There wouldn’t be anything in there that we could reliably use thanks to the fire and I’d already confirmed the building was clear! She never should have gone back in! What were you thinking?” he demanded of her._

_Robin opened her mouth but the box let out a forlorn little meow, effectively silencing whatever she was going to say. Resigned to the inevitable disappointed lecture she was about to receive, Robin sheepishly opened the box flap a little to reveal a terrified looking adolescent calico and a small, multicoloured huddle of fluffballs of indeterminate gender._

_“I’ve watched her on the cams for the past week. I fed her sometimes, when she was nearby, because she looked so hungry,” Robin admitted. “That’s why she stuck to the area, that’s why she chose that warehouse to give birth. She thought she was in a safe place, somewhere that had food. I was responsible for her.” Robin set the box down on the rooftop tiredly. “I had to save her if I could.”_

_The silence persisted for so long that Robin looked up again._

_Batman was staring at her._

_Nightwing was doubled over, shaking with the effort of not laughing out loud. “Do you want me to book ‘em, boss?” he burst out. “Felony cuteness? Aiding and abetting tuna theft, maybe?”_

_Batman rolled his eyes at his eldest protégé. “No. Thank you for your professionalism, Nightwing,” he added dryly. They were on much better terms these days._

_He turned to look at Robin, who squirmed. She’d done the right thing. She’d done the only thing she could do. She was well versed in the idea of there being no reward for either of those things except the act itself, but that didn’t mean she was inured to Batman’s disappointment._

_Batman sighed. “Go with Nightwing and take them to the shelter on 9 th. I have to make reports to the police.”_

_Robin slumped. It wasn’t yelling, but it still felt like a failure to her._

_“Aaaaand?” Nightwing prompted._

_Batman looked at him._

_“You forgot the_ rest of it _, B,” Nightwing was still grinning, but there was a steely set to his mouth that indicated that Batman had better damn well take the out that Nightwing was giving him, or else._

_Batman looked from Nightwing to Robin then back to Nightwing. Nightwing raised his eyebrows._

_Batman rolled his eyes. “Robin,” he turned to her. “I wish you hadn’t been quite so reckless, however,” he shot a look at Nightwing who coughed warningly. “You did a good job tonight. Nightwing was right; your actions demonstrated great… resourcefulness.”_

_“Oh,” Robin was taken off guard. She smiled. “Thank you.”_

_Batman nodded and grappled down to street level, leaving the two of them and a box of tiny cats._

_Robin gently closed the box flap because the mother cat was looking increasingly anxious. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” she murmured. “I’d rather have no compliment at all than a forced one.”_

_Nightwing huffed. “Forced nothing,” he told her. “You’re a good person, Robin,” he added sincerely. “You took on a difficult job and you’re excelling at it. You deserve to hear it more often.”_

_Robin shrugged uncomfortably. “I do, don’t I?” she answered. “I mean, you tell me that, and Oracle and things.” She and Batman didn’t talk that way. Theirs was the mutual, unspoken satisfaction of rightness and correctness. Their words were rarely idle, and never wasted. They were both cerebral creatures, they understood each other on that level. Robin knew few could claim to be Batman’s intellectual equal and that Batman was pleased there was someone there who could really, genuinely, keep up with his mind._

_That was a worthy compliment, at least in her mind._

_“You deserve to hear it from_ him _, babydoll,” Nightwing ruffled her hair. “I know how much his word means to you. And, FYI, I’m not forcing him to say — or think — anything. B thinks the world of you, kid. He just never says it. I happen to think he should. Sometimes he needs to be reminded that not everyone sees things as clearly as he does. Sometimes we need to hear the obvious, you know?”_

_Robin nodded. She did know. Batman’s words had been stilted, but not grudging. She hated to admit to such a vanity, but they had been worth hearing. Nightwing didn’t understand how this Robin and Batman communicated… but still, he wasn’t wrong._

_“I understand him,” Robin told him. “I know what he says when he doesn’t speak.”_

_“That’s not enough, babydoll,” Nightwing said frankly._

_“It is for me,” Robin shrugged as the box gave another meow. “Always has been.”_

_Nightwing shook his head. “Then I’m going to have to work on you, too. But,” he brightened. “In the meantime, let’s get mama-floof and mini-floofs into a nice, warm shelter bed. They’ve had a rough night.”_

_“Yeah,” Robin patted the box._

_“Maybe you can adopt one!” Nightwing offered cheerfully. “Do you like cats?”_

_Robin nodded. “Yes, but… my parents won’t let me have a pet. Too messy and inconvenient, they said.”_

_“Oh,” Nightwing deflated. “Are you sure? Maybe you could keep it at the Manor. I’m sure B wouldn’t mind. “_

_“No, it’s alright,” Robin said firmly. She wasn’t going to let herself in for that sort of disappointment. “I’m too busy for a pet. Pets need attention and things. I wouldn’t have the time to take care of it properly, like it should be.”_

_“Okay,” Nightwing shrugged. “If that’s what you want…”_

_It wasn’t exactly, but Robin knew facts when she saw them. She and Batman were much more a team these days, but that didn’t mean she could just… presume._

_It was okay, though. She and Nightwing ended up staying at the shelter for hours after they checked their new guests in, playing in the kitten pen and having a bunch of fun with the residents, much to the amusement of the night staff._

_It wasn’t quite the same as owning one, but the memory was precious nonetheless._

*

“Don’t look at me like that!” Jason said irritably when he’d finished explaining. “I told you, she tells me shit.”

Dick was rubbing his temples. “And you never thought to, I don’t know, tell _us_? Joker’s hairy ballsack, Jason, you didn’t think we needed to know?”

“First of all,” Jason jabbed a finger at him. “Ew. Second of all, no, I actually really didn’t. Baby Bird and I have a working deal, yeah? Sometimes she don’t want to go to the Manor with her scrapes and shit and fuck knows I don’t most of the time either. So, on the occasion we need a second set o’ hands for patchin’, we go to each other. Mostly we go to her safehouses ‘cause she stocks ‘em up better’n I do mine. I couldn’t help noticin’ she took a bunch of pills. Trained detective, remember? I didn’t get all up in her grill about it, which is probably why she didn’t tell certain other people, naming no names, Dickface.”

Dick glowered at him.

Bruce, on the other hand, was sitting on the bed and reeling. Timi had turned to the League of Assassins for help in finding him? Had she really been so desperate that _Ra’s Al Ghul_ had been an option? Bruce could only imagine how hard Ra’s had worked to twist Timi’s loneliness and isolation to his own ends. He excelled at finding pressure points.

Bruce was starting to panic again. Who knew what seeds of doubt had been sown in the fertile ground of Timi’s mind? Ra’s was immortal. He could afford to be patient. He could _wait_ until Timi finally gave up on them, believing there was no place for her. He claimed to be her mortal enemy, but that meant nothing to a man of Ra’s timescale. He’s had lifetimes of people shifting their allegiances around him. Bruce was his mortal enemy too, and he’d still take him in if given the slightest chance.

_Ra’s wanted another heir from her_.

Bruce had every faith in Timi’s distaste for everything the League stood for. But how much rejection could one soul take?

Bruce had to act _now_ before that faith — that granite hard, immovable foundation that they all relied on — started to crumble in earnest.

He refocused on his sons.

“…plague you know! What if she’d gotten hit with a biohazard? After the fact is a bit late to find out she has no damn spleen!” Dick was saying furiously.

“Oh, fuck you!” Jason snapped back. “She told me that shit in confidence, asshole. Or near enough. You’re just pissy because she told me an’ not you!”

“ _Enough_ ,” Bruce’s thundering voice was enough to stop the nascent fight in its tracks. “Now isn’t the time. I’m glad she told _someone_ , Dick. You should be too.”

Dick closed his mouth and slumped.

“Did she tell you who did it?” Bruce asked.

“Some asshole,” Jason shrugged. “Called himself the Widower. He’s deep black; barely a rumour even among my League contacts. He’s gonna be a shit to track down.”

“Let me know if you need help with that,” Dick offered darkly.

“It can wait, Dick,” Bruce told him. “It can _wait_ ,” he insisted when Dick glared at him. “Our focus needs to be on Timi. She needs to know — and we need to tell her — that she’s a part of this family, because right now I’m not sure she ever really truly believed that.”

That was a rather stark conversation stopper. The boys both shifted uncomfortably.

There was a knock at the door. Stephanie and Damian were both standing there.

“If you three idiots are finished,” Stephanie raised an eyebrow at them. “The gremlin and I have a bunch of stuff we might be able to try.”

“ _I_ had a list going,” Damian muttered. “You just took it over, Brown.”

Dick perked up slightly. “Great! Let’s see it!”

“You did put something musical on there, right?” Jason asked. “Baby Bird still likes that piano shit.”

“That’s a highly unlikely option,” Damian wrinkled his nose. “Drake hasn’t played for years.”

“What? No,” Dick blinked. “That can’t be right. She used to go to music festivals all the time.”

“I haven’t heard her play since the day her father was murdered,” Damian shrugged. “I doubt she played at the Titans Tower. They don’t have a piano there.”

A thick silence permeated the room as they all considered the ramifications of that.

“Let’s not,” Stephanie said eventually. “Jump to conclusions. We do that enough when it comes to her. It’s been a really busy couple of years, I can’t see her having the time to play. Hell, at the moment I can’t see her having the time to sleep or eat, either.”

Still, the unexpected bit of knowledge was yet another handful of salt in their wounds. The more they looked, they realised, the less they actually knew about Timi.

It was awful thinking of her believing she wasn’t a member of the family. It was worse knowing that her assumption was based on valid evidence.

Bruce packed another crushing addition to the weight of guilt in his chest and turned to go back to the daughter he failed. The others could sort out their plans between them; he needed to be with her. The urge was visceral.

He was beaten to the punch by his other daughter. Cass had come up to the room as silently as a shadow. He read the look in her eyes like a book.

_She’s awake_.


	19. Chapter 19

_She’d searched the Tower, the bunker under the Tower, the main watchpoint overlooking the bay and had even called Ma Kent in Kansas. Nothing._

_She was down to grappling her way across to the Golden Gate, comming Batman while she did so because whatever else Robin was, she was a consummate multitasker._

_“Seriously B, you need to deal with Supes’ utter train wreck of a coping method, okay?” Robin demanded as she grappled across to the first stanchion. There was a lone figure perched on top of the Marin end stanchion, almost but not quite obscured by the interplay of bright light from below and shadow from above. “This is the fifth time in two months we’ll have to replace the gym.”_

_“What did he break?” Batman’s voice was characteristically grim._

_“Replace. The. Gym,” Robin repeated as she slid down the massive main cable to the dip. “Like, the whole thing, B. But really? I’m not mad at him over it, you know why? Because I’d be angry too if the_ only _person who might even remotely understand how_ terrifying _and_ lonely _living in a world of cardboard is promised to be somewhere and freaking flaked out at the last minute. He can’t keep doing this B! He can’t keep dangling the carrot and then making a bunch of lame excuses when he yanks it away! He didn’t even have the decency to call!”_

_Batman sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”_

_“Do more than talk this time, B,” Robin started the arduous grapple swing along the upswing of the main cable. “You tell him that if he doesn’t want to be bothered mentoring Superboy, then I damn well don’t want him mentoring any Teen Titan, any time, for any reason. He can just step right back off the advisory committee and leave it to people who are willing to get invested. Leave it to people who_ care. _”_

_Robin wasn’t certain, but she thought the figure on top of the stanchion moved slightly. Good, he was listening._

_“He cares, baby,” Batman’s voice was noticeably warmer. “I promise he does. You’re right, he isn’t coping well.”_

_“He’s flailing,” Robin agreed grimly. “And you know what B?” she swung a second line and trapezed further up the arc. “When Superman flails, things break. People. Maybe it’s for the best if he doesn’t try to mentor anyone until he grasps that.”_

_“Taking him off the advisory board is a big step, kiddo,” Batman warned her. “I’d prefer to avoid rifts in the League if I can. It’s herding cats there on a good day.”_

_“Oh, there won’t be a rift,” Robin said grimly. “The Titans and I took a vote. We all agreed that we need our advisory board to show their commitment and reliability. We need to know whoever we call, whenever we call and regardless of_ who does the calling _, someone is going to show. Superman hasn’t and isn’t, so how can we trust that he’ll come if he’s needed urgently? We can’t afford to take that risk, especially considering we deal with this job on top of all the usual, full-time crises of teenagerhood. He can either suck that up or we can disband.”_

_“Robin,” Batman sighed._

_“He’s an adult. B,” Robin added softly. “He should be acting like one.”_

_Batman sighed again. “I’ll put your proposal forth. We’ll see.”_

_“That’s all I ask,” Robin transcribed a precise arc into the stanchion and started to scale up the surface like a surefooted cat, tapping a coded message to the other searching Titans as she did so. “I gotta go, B. Someone has to clean up his mess.” She signed off as she reached the upper level, traffic like tiny moving motes below her._

_“You shouldn’t do that,” Superboy muttered in a low voice. “You shouldn’t disband the team.”_

_“Hey,_ I _am not doing anything,” Robin replied. “The team is. We took a vote and unanimously decided that Superman sucks. We shouldn’t have to deal with that on top of every other thing we deal with.”_

_Superboy’s hands clenched over his knees from where he hunched over in a lonely, angry huddle. “You’re not. He’s good with you. Good with the rest. It’s me he has a problem with.”_

_“And we have a problem with that,” Robin swiftly added. “Why wouldn’t we? Not only does he have his head jammed so far up his butt he probably needs his x-ray vision just to function…”_

_Superboy barked out a startled laugh._

_“… he’s also being a first-class hypocrite,” Robin was angrier about that than any of the rest of it._

_“What, because Kryptonians should help other Kryptonians?” Superboy snorted. “I’m not even that.”_

_“Because it doesn’t matter where you come from, only what you do,” Robin replied. “That’s a direct quote, by the way. He’s trotted that gem out for years, every time the public shouts about a redeemed villain or an anti-hero. You are not your blood, or your bone, you are not the place you were raised or the people that raised you. You are what you do. What, after all that pontificating, suddenly he looks at you and just sees your genetics? God, what a putz!”_

_Superboy laughed again, still bitterly. “Maybe that’s not what he’s seeing. I mess up, I keep getting things wrong, there’s all this… this_ stuff _I don’t know. I break things. That’s the only thing I’ve ever done well. Break things. Maybe that’s what he sees.”_

_“Like I said,” Robin replied to this archly. “Head up butt.”_

_“You know it’s true,” he jabbed a finger at her. “How many times have I screwed up? How much stuff have I broken? More than anyone else on the team. That’s a fact. You… you deal in facts.”_

_“Okay,” Robin retorted. “You want facts? I got facts. The last two years have literally been seventy five percent of your lifespan. You have saved, directly, six hundred and eighty-two civilians, and indirectly somewhere in the thousands. You have been mission critical for sixty seven percent of all Titans missions and a key player in close to ninety percent. You save cats in trees whenever you hear about one, you have a weekly errand run on your patrol route that allows you to take out trash for the elderly and do wave-bys for kids in the orphanage. You struggle to read but you keep trying, doggedly, persistently, and you listen when the other members of the Reading Adventures Discord give you tips and tricks to help you learn faster. You excel at mathematics, but you don’t like to talk about it because you don’t want to be known for being weird. You want so badly to try matcha green tea ice cream but the colour reminds you of the goop they used to feed you at the lab so you keep losing your nerve at the ice cream parlour whenever we go there for victory sundaes. You donate most of your stipend to food banks because you hate seeing people hungry. Yes, you break things,” Robin glared at him. “And then you watch a thousand DIY YouTube videos that teach you how to fix things. You fail and you misunderstand things, but you never look away if there’s something that needs doing. You_ care _. You never stop caring, even though no one ever showed you how to do that.”_

_He was staring at her, open mouthed._

_“He doesn’t see you,” Robin looked him in the eye to ram the point home. “We see you. I see you. And really? That’s his loss.”_

_He stared at her before his face split into a heart-warming smile. “Thanks, Robin.”_

_“My name is Timi,” she replied. “Well, it’s Timianna, but that sounds fussy so I’m just Timi. Timi to my friends.”_

_“Oh,” Superboy was taken aback. “Right. Timi. Um… that’s a nice name.”_

_“It’s an awful name,” Robin sighed. “My parents wanted to name me after a grandparent each. Grandpa Timothy and Grandma Anna. It was to curry favour in the will, I think. Plus, it plays well in society pages, you know, having a unique name. It has no meaning and I keep having to spell it for people.”_

_“No, it_ is _a good name,” Superboy insisted. “It’s good because it’s yours. You make it good. You make it yours. No one else could be Timianna except you.”_

_Robin was surprised to feel herself blushing. “Being unique; it’s fun, huh?”_

_“Yeah,” Superboy ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry about the gym thing. I just… the text made me so mad and—”_

_“And you went to the most reinforced room in the Tower to deal with it, just like we practiced,” Robin cut him off. “That’s what we want, Superboy. You did the right thing.”_

_“The right thing would be not doing it at all!”_

_“Seriously? You are less than three years old,” Robin held up a hand. “I know you’re bigger and smarter than the average three-year-old, but Superboy, they stuck you in a tube and downloaded an encyclopaedia into your brain thinking it would somehow make you an instantly fully realised person; as if knowledge is all it takes to make a functioning mind. Knowledge is different than wisdom. Wisdom you only get from experience. And experience comes from making mistakes. Most people get a trial period of at least eighteen years before they’re expected to have full self-control, full awareness of their feelings. You’ve had_ three _. Trust me, you’re doing fine. You’re getting better, getting wiser, every day. Growing is always hard,” Robin added. “No matter who you are. We’re all growing up too. That’s what the Titans are for. This is us, stepping out on our own and making mistakes and getting stronger and wiser for them.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone, Superboy. And if you screw up, then all that means is you’re just like the rest of us.”_

_“Stupid?” He was grinning when he said it._

_“Human,” Robin shrugged. “And that’s something Superman will only ever be able to play at being. You ever wonder if, deep down, that’s what gets to him the most?”_

_Superboy blinked upon hearing it, a thousand different expressions crossing his face. In the end his only response was a single, “Huh.”_

_Robin looked thoughtful. “Maybe it would help if we came up with a human name,” she said slowly. “Superboy was kind of thrust upon you. You can really only use it for when you’re doing Titans stuff. Would it help, do you think? To have an Earth name?”_

_“Uh,” Superboy looked surprised. “Like, I can just pick my own name? Just like that?” His brow wrinkled. “Can people just do that?”_

_“I wish people could just do that,” Robin snorted. “I got stuck with Timianna. In a way you’re very lucky; not many people get to choose their own names for themselves. What do you think? What kind of name would you like?” She got out her cellphone and punched in commands._

_“I… I don’t know,” Superboy muttered. “I… that’s kind of big.”_

_“You don’t have to choose one right now,” Robin told him. “But think about it, okay? You belong here. You should have a name that’s all yours.”_

_Superboy nodded. “I’ll think about it.”_

_“Great! Now, the Titans are waiting for us on the other end of the bridge. You want to go get some ice cream?”_

_“Isn’t that for,” Superboy waved his hands. “After we win?”_

_“Sometimes we can do things just for fun,” Robin told him. “Because we feel like it and because it makes us happy. Your life doesn’t have to revolve around fights; you are allowed to have other things too. So, if you feel like ice cream, then we can go get ice cream, okay?”_

_“Okay,” Superboy smiled. “Let’s do that.”_

_“Alright then,” Robin reached out a hand and poked the other teen in the forehead. “Tag, you’re it!”_

_His brow wrinkled again. “I’m what?”_

_“Tag,” Robin grinned. “It’s a game. You ‘tag’ someone by touching them with your hands. Then they’re ‘it’ and have to chase someone and ‘tag’ them.”_

_“So I’m it?” Superboy slowly tried to understand. “And I have to tag someone with my hands and then they’re ‘it’?”_

_“Yep,” Robin nodded. “But you gotta catch them first!”_

_Superboy reached out a hand to tag her but was a beat too late. The experimental rocket powered Bat mini glider swooped to their location and Robin latched on as it shot past. “Too laaaaaaaate!” she yelled over her shoulder at Superboy’s astonished face._

_“Hey! That’s cheating!” Superboy yelled after her. Then he frowned. “I think.”_

_He started to speed run down the main cable, following the straight path of her flight along the bridge to the San Francisco side of the bay, already a blur._

_He nearly managed to get her before slaloming into Kid Flash as the latter darted across the end of the bridge, right to left, trying to relieve some of the energy pulsing through him. They fell into an inglorious tangle into the trees under the lip of the bridge near Marine Drive, groaning._

_“Shitsorrydude,” Kid Flash blurted as they tried to detangle from both themselves and the trees, which had taken quite a beating. “Didn’t see you there. Raven!” he yelled up to the bridge. “I thought you said you’d tell us when they were coming!”_

_“I can’t_ talk _faster that a Super can run, Bart,” said an exasperated voice from the shadows. Raven had simply phased down to ground level._

_A green seagull landed on a nearby branch as they both fell out of the trees. “Duuude,” Beast Boy was laughing fit to burst. “That was_ spectacular! _I think you might have caused a shockwave when you collided.”_

_“Are you both okay?” Wonder Girl’s shadow fell across them as she hovered over them, looking both concerned and amused._

_“Yeah, we’re fine,” Superboy muttered as he rose to his feet. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”_

_“Kid’s not fine,” Robin called cheerfully from way above where she circled on the glider. “You’re it, Kid! Superboy tagged you!”_

_“What?!” Kid Flash squawked. “Wait, we’re playing tag now?”_

_“That’s right,” Robin laughed._

_“And I’m it?” Kid’s face split into an evil grin._

_“Yep!”_

_“Oh Beast Boooy!” Kid sing-songed creepily._

_“Uh oh,” Beast Boy hurriedly transformed into a peregrine falcon and took off, Kid Flash cackling in pursuit while the rest of them laughed._

_They played tag across the bay area for hours, because when you’ve got what Titans have got the world really can be your playground. Pictures of their epic game of tag went viral. Somehow it was always a shock to people to see them all behaving like regular kids._

_Kid and Superboy had the speed, Wonder Girl and Beast Boy had flight, Raven had her teleportation and Robin had her brains. Between them a game of tag became a very interesting exercise. Sometimes it was nice to just let the weight of the capes fall away and do something silly and fun. They savoured what rare chances they had to do so._

_The rest of them all complained about Robin using drones, though._

_Afterwards they went for ice cream. Robin ended up shoving a heaped spoonful of matcha green tea flavour right into Superboy’s mouth before he could protest._

_He agreed it was very good._

*

Bruce had a fight on his hand but was not known for losing fights. He went back down to the Cave alone.

Babs was the only one still there. She was sitting at the screens, ostensibly burning the last hour before daylight. Bruce saw that one of the screens was off, though, and its gloss reflected a good sight line into the med bay, so he wasn’t buying it.

“Go upstairs,” Bruce told her. “Get some sleep. Or go help the others, goodness knows they’re probably harassing Alfred to death right now. He made muffins.”

“Dark chocolate raspberry, no doubt,” Babs sighed. “Her favourite. She hasn’t done much,” Babs added quietly. “She woke up, asked Cass a couple of questions and then went mute. Cass went to get you. She’s just been sitting there, not moving.”

Bruce nodded and shooed her towards the elevator.

Then he forced himself to breathe around the tightness in his gut and strode into the fray.

Timi was cross legged on the infirmary bed. Someone, hopefully Cass, had removed her IV catheter and vital sign monitors. He could pick out the individual bones of her wrists, she was so skinny. No doubt he’d be able to do the same to her ankles were her feet not wrapped in layers of gauze.

She didn’t look up as he went in. She stayed where she was, staring down at the phone in her hands, the screen cracked and the device itself no doubt dead of drowning now.

The detective in him logged a pertinent detail; that phone wasn’t Timi’s phone. He filed it for later enquiry. Right now, he was only concerned for her. But as he opened his mouth to ask her how she was feeling, she beat him to the opening salvo.

“I’m sorry I ruined Extravaganza Day,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t think I understand fun very well.”

Bruce closed his mouth. It was either that or scream as she ripped his heart clean out of him. Damn Jack and Janet Drake, damn the press and the public, damn the executives and the heroes and, most of all, damn Bruce Wayne too. Damn every person whose damn job it was — or damn well should have been — to do everything in their power to make this girl smile instead of stuffing the burdens of adulthood anywhere they’d fit.

Bruce went over and took a seat. “You know what, baby?” he said instead of whatever else he wanted to say. “Neither do I.”

Her head tilted slightly towards him; dark blue eyes glanced at him through the tangled tresses of her hair, but she quickly looked away again.

“I hear it all the time from Clark and the League,” Bruce pushed on. “I should have more fun, loosen up, relax. They don’t understand that’s not how my brain works. It doesn’t have a resting state. It’s trying to solve a hundred things, scheduling five hundred necessary jobs, speculating about the outcomes of a thousand possible scenarios, all at once and all the time. I don’t like music or dancing or going out anywhere. That’s just another load of stimulus to deal with, too many things pulling at my attention. It only makes it worse. When I want to have fun, I’m locking myself away somewhere with a brandy and a fascinating biography or history, whiling away my time trying to get my brain to get to somewhere less than full throttle. Even people who know me think that I must be miserable and repressed. They don’t understand that for me the greatest pleasure I can get is a minute’s silence inside my head. Fun is something I can only get when I’m by myself or… or with my children. But that’s not fun, exactly,” Bruce took a breath. “They make me happy. You make me happy.”

She didn’t react to this very much. Her shoulders hunched down, but that was about it.

“No one’s mad at you, baby,” Bruce told her gently, trying in vain to get some glimpse of her face, some indication of her headspace. “We’re all really worried about you. You were so _sick_ , you could have died, and you’re exhausted and you’re not eating and… and I owe you so many apologies I’m not even sure where to start making them, or how.”

That, at least, gained him a little ground. She still wouldn’t look at him but at least she responded with a whispered, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh baby,” Bruce reached out and gently ran his fingers across her hair and scalp, brushing back tendrils from her face. “You know that’s not true. I owe you uncountable apologies. One for every slight, every wound, every hurt I gave you. For every cruelty inflicted, for every dismissal unjustly done. You shouldn’t have had to shoulder the burden of my pain, baby.”

“Everything you did to me,” Timi said. “Everything I learned saved my life at least once.”

“And I’m grateful,” Bruce replied. “Always, for that. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t wrong. You can build something good out of a wrong, but that doesn’t magically make it a right.”

Timi shifted uncomfortably. That was a truth she had no ready answer for. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Oh sweetheart, of course it does,” Bruce stroked her hair again. “It matters a great deal because _you_ do. You went through year after year in this place believing — maybe only in a small, quiet way, but still _believing_ — that you weren’t every bit as important and integral to me as everyone else who ever lived here. That you didn’t _belong_ here. I can’t tell you how ashamed and sorry I am of all the things I said and did to put that thought in your head; doubly so for blithely forgetting that I had done so in the first place.”

Timi hunched down even further. “I didn’t mean it. I say stupid, cruel things when I’m angry.” She scrubbed at her eyes. “I just had a bad day,” she whispered.

“And if you had snapped at us about petty things, small things, I would believe that,” Bruce retorted gently, still stroking her hair. “But what you said came from a deeper place than that. What did you say that wasn’t true? What harm did you name that wasn’t justly laid at our feet? I can’t argue with any point you put before me. Even if great good came of it, even if there was some benefit to be mined out of it, you still got hurt, baby. And that’s not _nothing_.”

Timi miserably scrubbed at her eyes again. “But we were getting better and then I ruined it.”

“There’s nothing better about you digesting all the hurt while we go merrily on our way, Timi,” Bruce shook his head. “That’s not what I want. That’s not what they want. That’s not… not how family is supposed to work. Even if it causes us pain, it’s still better that you told us, that we _know_. I… all of us want to find a way to fix what we did. Is it so hard for you to believe we’d want you to be welcome here? That we’d do anything, everything, to make sure you were?” Bruce asked plaintively.

Silence was the dreadful answer.

Bruce girded himself. “I know it’s going to take you a while to accept this. I only have myself to blame for that. Timi? Please look at me sweetheart? Please?”

Slowly, like her joints were rusted, Timi turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were dull and tired.

“I love you,” Bruce told her fiercely. “You’re my precious, precocious baby girl. You’ll always be that to me. You’ve been that since you were Robin. You were so good and… I needed someone like you then. I was too stupid, too self-involved to see it at first and I hurt you so badly, in ways I’ll never be able to atone for. No,” he held up a finger as she opened her mouth. “No defences, baby, and no excuses. What I did wasn’t right. It was one of the worst things I have ever done. Almost as bad,” Bruce added softly. “As sweeping it aside for year after year, never recognizing the damage I did. Never acknowledging the great service you did for me or what it cost you to do so. Timi,” Bruce cupped her face. “I’m so sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for every dismissal, every rejection, every _thing_ I did that made you think you weren’t welcome here. If I could go back, knowing what I now know and loving you as much as I do, I would have opened that door for you on the first day. I wish I could,” Bruce said roughly. “More than anything.”

Timi stared at him. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered.

Bruce ran his fingers through her hair, heart breaking open wide. That might be the worst of it; she was so used to being silently forgotten that she had no contingency to steer her through actual acknowledgment. He didn’t want to upset her, even though she needed to hear it. “I don’t want anything from you, baby,” Bruce told her. “You don’t have to explain anything or excuse anything. You don’t have to accept my apology. But I still wanted you to hear it because it needed to be said. You don’t have to _fix_ anything here, baby. We have to fix this. We want to. We all want to try that, okay?”

Timi’s face tightened with misery. She pulled out of his grip abruptly, hunching down impossibly smaller. “I don’t think I’m that good at fixing things, anyway,” she mumbled. “Not… people things.”

“You fixed me,” Bruce retorted. “You shouldn’t have had to, but you did. I think you’re good at fixing just about every broken thing you see. You’re the kind of person I wanted to be when I grew up.”

That caused a ripple of surprise to run down her spine, but she stayed staring at her hands, turning the broken, random phone over and over. Bruce told himself to be patient. She’d endured his unthinking rejection for years; she couldn’t start believing in his acceptance instantly. Bruce still wished with all his heart that he could somehow make her feel better. So far he seemed to have only confused or saddened her.

“I…” Timi mumbled. “I had a bad day today.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the abrupt segue.

“I tried to fix something and I… it didn’t work,” Timi continued.

Bruce leaned forward. “Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?”

Timi turned the strange phone over in her hands. “WE made a bad deal. There were all these people without access to wages owed or a health plan or their pensions. They’d been that way for nearly half a year before I found out. They’d been trying to get anyone who would listen in Resources to help them out, but it had all been tangled up with Legal and… it was a mess. There was a floor manager who worked there named Ibrahim Jhan. He had a skilled job, degrees; he could have moved on into a better position but he stayed. He was loyal to his people. He felt guilty because when all the suits showed up with promises of instant cash, he told his people it would be okay, and it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. So, he stayed. He was good. He was trying to be good.”

“They called in lawyers and threatened to sue. They had a case,” Timi bowed her head, looking blankly at the cracked phone screen. “I got ahead of it. I called in every favour, pulled every string. I worked at it as hard as I could because it wasn’t _fair_. They were starving and dying, and it wasn’t _fair_. They hated WE, they hated me… I didn’t blame them. But I still tried to help. I did it, you know? I got the money, I unlocked the pensions, I arranged insurance. All of it.”

“That’s what you were working on this week,” Bruce surmised.

Timi nodded. “I met Mr. Jhan in the plaza almost every day. He was desperate, his son was sick. He was reduced to sitting out there in the heat, hoping that his suffering would make us move faster. I always said hello,” Timi choked on the words. “I brought him water. I… I tried to get him to go inside where it was cool, but he wouldn’t and I respected why. He had to do something, and he had nothing else. No other recourse. The first day I didn’t see him was on Cass’ day. I got back from the spa and he wasn’t there. He’d been there but then he just walked off. He left his phone behind.”

She trailed off as a splash of bright saltwater hit the black screen.

“What happened, baby?” Bruce had a crimping sensation in his chest.

“He walked out of the plaza, down to the train station and…and when he got there,” Timi choked. “He jumped. Cross town express. They never even saw him until it was too late.”

“Oh Timi,” Bruce sighed. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Timi finally looked at him, her eyes full of agony. “What if it was my fault?”

Bruce blinked in confusion. “Of course it wasn’t your fault. How could it be, baby? You were trying to help him.”

“But he had pictures of me. He was looking at them on the day he…” she waved a hand, tears spilling down her face.

“Pictures?” Bruce was even more confused, and now slightly alarmed. Teenage daughter + photos + stranger’s phone was not a formula any father wanted to solve. “What pictures?”

“Pictures of _us_ , you know, dressed up at the Mall,” Timi tried dashing the tears away but more welled up. “S-Steph put them on her Instagram.”

“Oh,” Bruce scaled back his defcon alert. “I don’t understand, baby,” he said helplessly.

“He’d been fighting so hard and all the suits told him they’d look into it and then they just… just _ignored_ him. Day after day after day he flipped a coin on his son’s life, and they nodded their heads and gave him lip service and then forgot about it. _I told him it would be okay_ ,” Timi cried harder. “The next thing he saw of me was those pictures, laughing and having fun while his people suffered. What if he thought I was just like the others? What if he thought I wasn’t going to help him?” Timi’s voice was dissolving. “Oh Daddy, what if he saw me having fun and thought I didn’t _care_? I did!” Timi sobbed as she broke down. “I really did!”

Bruce swept her up and hauled her into his arms as her tiny frame wracked with sobs. He buried his face into her hair and help on tight, his throat too tight for words. She was holding his shirt front white knuckled, like the last life preserver on stormy seas. He felt helpless. He felt enraged. She was a sixteen-year-old girl; she shouldn’t have to think that way about having _fun_. She shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden of Mr. Jhan’s life. That wasn’t her responsibility.

She shouldn’t have to be responsible for anyone. She wouldn’t have had to had anyone thought to take some damn responsibility _for_ her.

“Ssshhhh,” Bruce hushed into her hair. “Ssshh-ssshh.” He stroked her long tendrils of hair as she cried herself out, slowly rocking her backwards and forwards as she poured out all her grief. It was a cloudburst of buried hurt, a heaving storm that Bruce had no other option but to wait out.

He reflected what a rare event this was, even when it shouldn’t be. It was very, very difficult to get her to show this much emotion. The last time…. Yes, the last time he had seen her like this had been when her father had died.

He wondered in that moment if any of his other children really understood where that reserve came from. It sounded like the height of snobbery to state it in such a way, but the others weren’t raised in the right class to understand it. Up in the upper crust there was a glittering backwater of interpersonal relations and sexual politics, honed and sharpened by life under the eye, and lens, of the public. You _never_ showed all your cards, you never revealed your innermost depths, maybe even to the people closest to you. Brucie was hardly an invention of Batman. Brucie had formed on his mother’s knee, in response to the endless lack of privacy a scion on the house of Wayne lived under. And Timi was raised under no less of that particular pressure of the perfected image than he had been.

You saved your truest self for when you were alone, out of eyeshot. Where no one could judge or gossip. Bruce didn’t like the wall Timi kept up; he felt it kept people from knowing her incredible sweetness. He did, however, absolutely understand why it was there in the first place.

At times that wall was incredibly useful, especially in their work. Now however, Bruce could see how much it had compounded the problem. In his and Timi’s world, you never showed vulnerability to those you weren’t sure could be trusted to care.

Eventually, slowly, the heart wrenching sobs dwindled to the occasional hiccup. She didn’t try to move away from her miserable huddle on his lap, which suited him fine because he wasn’t inclined to let go of her. He just continued to rock her like a much younger child, soothingly rubbing her back as she calmed down.

“Baby?” Bruce asked quietly as she quietened to the level of occasional sniffle. “Are you with me?”

Silence. Then the barest of nods against his wet shirtfront.

“Okay,” Bruce stroked her hair some more. He could feel a certain amount of tension come back to her frame, which he was pretty sure was an upswell of embarrassment. Theirs was not a class that revelled in the act of genuine emotional displays either; catharsis was no reward for the loss of dignity. He hated that she’d grown up under such a constraint, just as emotionally damaging as the neglect.

He stretched a hand across to the side table where the cold compresses had been stacked. They were mostly room temperature by now, but the washcloths were still damp. He used one to gently help wash her face. She allowed it, wrung out and docile.

“Do you remember what I told you,” Bruce said softly. “When you talked down your first suicide attempter and you kept wanting to check the same rooftop in case he went back? You were, what, twelve? You were so worried about him. You cared so much. I told you that you can’t change what’s inside people’s heads.”

Timi nodded silently.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Bruce rocked her. “You couldn’t change what was in his head. What he _chose_ to do wasn’t on you. And if it came about because of the endless unkindness and indifference he suffered, then that was the fault of the suits that came before. They eroded his hope with their greed. That’s not on you either. You were on his side. You were trying. But you couldn’t force him to see it or believe it. It’s _not_ your fault, baby.”

Timi squeezed her eyes closed, more tears leaking out. “Okay,” she croaked.

It wasn’t exactly an agreement, but at least she was listening. Bruce accepted that; he knew it was very difficult to let go of guilt. He continued to rock her in his arms slowly as she showed no signs of wanting to be released. He’d never, ever tell her this because she was sensitive about her size, but he loved the fact that, of all his children, she was still small enough to tuck under his cape like a small bird under his wing. Technically he could do it to Damian as well, but his youngest tended to see it as an indictment against his dignity. Plus, Bruce was ruefully aware Damian would be about his size when he finished growing, so his days of taking shelter from the rain under Batman’s cape were finite, just like Dick and Jason. Timi was of a size where he could get away with it forever.

And did, every chance he got.

He ran his fingers through her hair again, feeling mats and tangles push against his fingers. “Do you want me to brush your hair, sweetheart?”

“I should just cut it short again,” Timi mumbled.

“Don’t you dare,” Bruce admonished, surprised. “I love your hair. I know you like it long.”

Silence. Then a slightly more alert. “You do?”

Bruce shuffled her around so he could look into her wide-eyed gaze. “Oh baby, of course I do. What did I say that made you think I didn’t?” Stephanie’s words rang in his head.

“Oh well,” she fumbled for a response. “When I came back to the Manor after… after Dad died, you said I’d have to take more care now that my hair was longer because it was a grip point,” she fidgeted uncomfortably. “I thought that meant you didn’t like it. And you seemed pleased when you saw my new uniform with the cowl, so…” she shrugged.

“Of course I’m happy that you’re wearing a cowl,” Bruce affirmed, bewildered by her logic chain. “I want _all_ my children to wear cowls. Do you know how many head injuries we deal with on a yearly basis? The only ones who showed any sense about their headgear are you and _Jason_.”

His tone was one of such baffled wonder that Timi managed to crack a faint trace of a smile. “Oh,” was all she could think of to say.

“Keep your hair, baby,” Bruce told her. “If that makes you happy. Huntress and Batgirl manage just fine. Good grief, Starfire has hair down to her damn _knees_ and she hasn’t managed to get it set on fire. I like yours long. It’s very elegant on you. I didn’t like that you had to hack it all off that first time with Two Face just to fit with Robin. It felt too much like you were… mutilating yourself for my comfort.” He squeezed her tighter. “You shouldn’t ever have had to do that.”

Timi rested her head against his chest again. “…okay.”

“I still want you to wear the cowl,” Bruce admitted. “That’s just a dad thing though. Feel free to ignore me. Goodness knows most of your siblings do.”

She chuffed out a laugh.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asked once they settled in a warm silence.

“Tired,” she mumbled. “My head hurts.”

Bruce shifted. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” she tucked an arm around him. “I’m good. I’m good right here.”

“Okay baby,” Bruce kissed the top of her head. “We’ll just stay here for a while.”

As he rocked his precious daughter back to sleep, the detective flagged another pertinent detail.

She’d called him _Daddy_.

Bruce held her tighter, feeling a great wash of relief through him. Before he’d hoped he wasn’t too late.

Now he knew.


	20. Recalibration

_She’d unpacked every last box, cut up the boxes, assembled the furniture, rearranged it, looked over the paperwork one, two, three hundred times, set up her computer array. She’d worked until she was inventing jobs, restless and irritable._

_No amount of work would drown out the white noise buzzing around her skull, though._

_She briefly considered getting her Robin on but decided against it. Not, she told herself, because Batman would find out and she’d find herself on the receiving end of Batglare #7 — Supreme Disappointment. Robin deserved her A-game and there was no way she could make it higher than a B. Not after this week._

_Somewhere between the thought of B… Batman and the awful, soul killing silence of the apartment, Timi gave up lying in bed staring at the walls and got dressed._

_Her living room was full of repurposed packing boxes, neatly marked variously as ‘donation’ ‘Manor’ ‘Babs’ — for the Gotham Library — and a couple of her Dad’s old acquaintances. There was one still open marked ‘Dana’, but Timi turned her eyes as soon as she saw it. That wound was still too fresh._

_Timi’s target was the wall closet nearest to the door. That’s where she put everything she wouldn’t need day to day or even month to month. Incidentals and sundries._

_Timi was not a particularly sentimental person. Her memory was too good to need tokens and she’d long learned the value in having experiences rather than objects. The things she chose to keep tended to have some practical use. Still, while firmly unsentimental, she was known to keep a mathom or two; a thing no longer of use but that she recognised had once been of great service to her._

_After a bit of shifting she unearthed one such thing and then left the apartment with it, the clothes on her back, her phone, mp3, and a taser-modded collapsible baton._

_She was confident, but this was Gotham._

_She picked her way towards Amusement Mile via bus and train, eschewing her normal passion for efficiency and taking the scenic route. This was a rare instance where she had nothing to do and nowhere to be. It had a floaty, dreamlike quality to it. She was so deep in her personal bubble that she was practically rendered invisible, a five-foot-nothing petite fifteen-year-old walking the meaner streets of Gotham in a way that defied the laws of nature and common sense. She slipped through the air like a ghost, lightly dampened by the ever-present Gotham drizzle._

_The world seemed full of ghosts tonight._

_The old skate park was fenced in and padlocked, which was a laughable barrier for the average street kid and gave her not a moment’s pause. One brief tap on an app on her phone and the surveillance net around the park went dark for the night._

_There, in the pitch darkness and drumming rain, Timi dropped her skateboard and took off into the dark, silent, concrete maze._

_She didn’t find it right away, that elusive thing she was searching for. But one skittering fumble across the edge of a funbox nearly sending her into a rail got her adrenaline going and with it came that spark, that fierce, unstoppable joy of movement and flight. She was a bit rusty, but the night’s endeavours oiled her memories and she gained her groove easily enough after that. Full turns, half turns, backflips, forward flips, up and down the half pipes at breathless, breakneck speed where she’d once broken bones, free of worry. Free of fear._

_She had almost finished the wave line of Big Half Pipe to hit the rail curling around the other side and down the ramp when a figure sitting on the edge of the curve popped up suddenly, screamingly, out of the concealing shadows._

_Timi went through_ shape, movement, posture, weapons, environment _checklist in a fractured second and was jamming her heel on the base on the skateboard in a fragment of the next, kicking the nose up and sliding the weight left, making the skateboard veer spectacularly away from the seated figure. She’d have been close enough to brush him if he’d let her go by, but he reached out and grabbed her as she flailed past._

_She hung from the grip of his gauntlet, heart hammering. “B,” she admonished as her skateboard clattered, riderless, off into the distance. “Don’t_ do _that.”_

_Batman casually lifted her up and settled her next to him, legs dangling over the lip of the pipe. “I wanted to talk to you.”_

_“I have a phone, you know,” Timi muttered. She felt self-conscious and awkward around him now. The last time she’d seen him had been at the funeral. The last time she’d_ spoken _to him had been a little under a week before that._

_Spoken wasn’t the right word._

_She’d_ yelled _._

_Guilt gnawed away at her when she thought of it. When he hadn’t spoken to her at the wake, she’d thought maybe she’d really hurt him._

_But he had brought Dick with him, so it couldn’t have been all bad. Dick had thought nothing of chattering away with her at a funeral, monopolizing her time and keeping the others who had come out of her space. He was also really good at cuddling at exactly the right moment._

_It had been an arduous enough day as it was. It would have been torturous without Dick. So she had good reason to be thankful and many reasons to be sorry she’d ever yelled._

_“I call your phone,” Batman rumbled. “You don’t answer.”_

_Timi frowned. That didn’t sound right. She hadn’t… “Oh,” she realised. “Sorry. I think I muted my phone. A lot of eligible bachelors are sending the new heiress ‘call-me-if-you-need-to-talk’ messages. I got sick of the noise.” She’d set it so she’d know if Conner sent her anything, but she didn’t think he would. She’d asked him for space and time to deal with all her… family stuff, and Conner respected family stuff like he respected nothing else._

_“You’re fifteen,” Batman said flatly._

_Timi shrugged. “Never too early to invest in the future, so they tell me.” Timi shifted, anxious. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I swear.” Going incommunicado in the field was a Batman Absolute No._

_“Good,” Batman replied. “I’m glad.”_

_Timi fidgeted some more. “I’m sorry I yelled,” she blurted before she could rethink it. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to. I don’t even know why I said it.”_

**_‘I don’t NEED you to pay for the funeral! He’s MY father! I’ll take care of him!’_ **

_She winced at the shrill memory of her own voice, screaming at the man who’d taken her in after her mother died and her father was incapacitated. He hadn’t had to do that and standing there shouting down his honest attempt to help her seemed like ingratitude at its worst._

_Batman opened his mouth and appeared to hesitate. The rain continued its steady hiss all around them. “I’m not angry,” he said slowly, as if testing some dangerous waters._

_Timi shuffled. “Oh. Good,” she said in a far smaller voice than she intended._

_“I’m_ not _,” Batman sounded several shades more Bruce than he normally did. “I_ understand _. When my parents died,” he sighed. “I was angry too. I was angry at the lawyers and the doctors, I was angry at the police and the criminals, I was angry at Alfred… god, the things I said to Alfred. It got to the point where I was mad at the sun for coming up. Grief gives you a lot of things to process. Anger feels like a position of power. When you’re angry, at least you can feel as if you have some control over the situation. Don’t feel bad, kiddo. I get it. I really do.”_

_Timi stared sightlessly down the glistening half pipe. She nodded._

_She was surprised when one of Batman’s gauntleted hands folded around her smaller one. After a brief moment of hesitation, Timi gripped back, almost white-knuckled._

_They stayed and watched the rain for a while._

_Eventually, Timi’s sense of duty compelled her to say, “You’d better get going. I’m sure you’ve got active cases to attend to.” Batman’s words of benediction had eased whatever restless buzzing had been keeping her from peace. She was tired. She should go home and call Conner. She knew he was worried about her. All the Titans were._

_“I’m on a case right now, actually,” Batman told her softly. “The sudden disappearance of Charles Drake.”_

_Timi stiffened, feeling her stomach drop. He’d found her out._

How _? She’d been oh so careful, she’d covered her tracks. She’d triple checked everything._

_The rain filled the world with white noise as Timi struggled with a response. Batman waited her out._

_He’d said he wasn’t angry with her. Was that, like, a blanket condition?_

_“What gave me away?” Timi said eventually. It didn’t seem worth it to keep up the lie. She looked down at the gauntleted hand holding hers. “Oh. Polygraph reading from the gauntlet, of course.”_

_“No,” Batman denied, lips twitching. “I’m not wearing those tonight. But I did happen to take a look at my old copy of_ Who’s Who _of Gotham. It’s about ten years old, but the births, marriages and deaths of the old families hardly change with new editions. Charles Drake’s death was duly recorded for posterity seventeen years ago, before you were even born.”_

_Timi pursed her lips, flushed with embarrassment. “Paper and ink,” she muttered._

_“Proof against even the best hackers,” Batman added slyly._

_“What is this, the Dark Ages?”_

_He barked a laugh at her consternation before sobering. “Timi,” he squeezed her hand. “Why did you do it? Why go to all that trouble? You… you seemed happy enough staying at the Manor… after.”_

_After Batman had found her covered in her father’s blood, desperately trying to resuscitate him. Even now the memory, while as stark in her head as any other memory her brain recorded, had a surreal, dreamlike quality, shattered bits and pieces from which she could form no coherent whole._

_Timi looked away. That was a question for which she had no ready answer. She didn’t know. Her actions were under the shoddy navigation of her emotions rather than the usual precise capability of her reason. She didn’t understand the waters she was sailing in._

_What should she say? If this were her standing in the Cave going to give a report on her actions, the words would have come. Here in this rain soaked, half condemned skate park, a living monument to her first steps on the path to be Robin that had led her to be orphaned at the age of fifteen, all she had were the clumsy, imprecise feelings to work with._

_But Batman had caught her in a lie. Batman should be able to trust his Robin._

_“My Father and I… um, we didn’t talk much when I was younger,” Timi started slowly. “He wasn’t very good with kids. Even his own. I… it was a long time before he understood that I could talk to him on his level, that I could keep up and he didn’t have to slow down for me. I always thought,” Timi swallowed back the waver in her throat. “That maybe we’d connect better when I got older. He was good with adults — engaging and charismatic and eager to talk. My Dad, he loved to expound on his pet theories with anyone who would even remotely listen,” she choked out a laugh. “I was almost there, you know?” The waver was still there. “Almost there. We started talking. He listened to me. He didn’t understand me, and I didn’t know a lot about him but, you know, we’d never been deeply involved with each other’s lives until then. Until we had to.”_

_She tried to draw breath, to redirect the flow, but the words started to pour out. “I never even met most of the people who came to his funeral. He was involved in so many…many causes and clubs and fellowships. All these people who got to see sides of my Dad that I never see. Saw. That I’ll never see. I was so close, B. It was so close to being… normal.”_

_“When Dana had herself committed, I didn’t understand. She told me she didn’t want me to take care of her. I… I thought she liked me, but I guess she didn’t know me that well. So I was on my own and… and I… it didn’t feel right. Going to the Manor, I mean. Jack Drake was dead, but what does that matter to Timi, because she’s got another father-figure lined up in the wings, like Jack Drake was unnecessary, like he was somehow replaceable.”_

_Timi slumped, drained. “I don’t_ know _, B. It all made sense in my head when I did it. I didn’t think… I didn’t want to cause problems. I thought you’d be happier if it was the way it always was, with me going home after patrol so you can get on with your life. I didn’t think you’d check so thoroughly.”_

_“Timi,” Batman said with what sounded like strained patience. “No child under my protection, in any way, shape, or form, is going to go into a stranger’s household without me checking their bona fides. Come on, kiddo, give me some credit.”_

_She flushed._

_“You’re not… a problem,” Batman continued tentatively. He sounded weirdly uncertain. “I couldn’t replace Jack Drake. I wouldn’t try. And…. You’re a part of my life. It doesn’t matter where you live. That will always be true. Do you… not like the Manor?” he asked cautiously. The unasked question hovering between them was ‘do you not like living with me?’_

_Timi opened her mouth. Closed it. This was the hardest tangle in the mess her feelings had become. “I do like the Manor,” Timi said quietly. “I love Alfred and the grounds and my room there.” Her better sense fought the words, but despite all the empty echoes she’d ever received over them in the past, Timi was somehow always compelled to say them. “And… you. But the rules have changed now, haven’t they? You can’t just take guardianship of me anymore. That’s not how this works. If I was going to live with you, you’d have to… adopt me,” there was the horrible word, out in the air between them. “You always said you’d never do that ever again after Jason. I respect that. I know that’s difficult for you to think about. I don’t… you shouldn’t have to take me in if that’s too much for you. It’s different for Damian, he has nowhere safe to go and he’s too young and he’s… well, he’s blood. I’m fine. I can manage on my own. I’ve done that before.”_

_Timi watched the rain form dusty rivulets down the half pipe to stream along the bottom into a foamy river. Her heart was a miserable little folded up knot. But these were facts. If nothing else, Timi knew facts._

_The silence persisted long enough for Timi to look back up at her mentor and when she did, she recoiled in surprise._

_He’d taken his cowl off. He’d taken his actual cowl off in the middle of Gotham in open air._

_Baffled and faintly alarmed. “Uh, should you be…”_

_Batman… Bruce? Held up a finger. “Timianna Drake,” he intoned. “I would be honoured… I would be_ happy _, happier than I can say, to adopt you. Whatever I may have said or thought in the past is irrelevant. Circumstances have changed._ I _have changed. Largely thanks to you, baby. I… the Manor should be open to you. You deserve that. You earned it. And… it would make me feel a lot better having you there. That you’re going home to a safe place, that you live with people who love you. I don’t want you going home to four lonely, empty walls. I hate the thought of it, baby. Please come back with me. Come back_ home _.”_

_Timi stared at him for a minute, two minutes, three, while she processed that. Of all the answers she could have gotten, that was the most unexpected one._

_She felt the knot inside her unravel in a kind of feverish warmth, so alien it was almost uncomfortable, but she revelled in it, nonetheless._

_She smiled. “Okay, B.”_

_Thunder crashed overhead; Gotham ever tuned to a dramatic frequency. The infinite drizzle became a weighty downpour as the heavens fully opened up and let loose._

_Timi felt an arm drop over her shoulders and she scooted closer so the cape came up over her head, turning the wet world into a drumming little shelter of warmth and peace._

_“Good,” B rumbled softly. “Good.”_

*

Because her sleep debt was getting to the stage of Hypnos personally coming down to break her legs, Timi spent most of the weekend asleep. Even her wakeful moments were conducted in a hazy state of half-lucidity, her usual infinite font of restless energy giving up the ghost in the face of the aching exhaustion in her bones.

Her dreams were haunted with train stations, sitting paralysed and mute while a broken and morose figure walked slowly and stoop shouldered towards the edge of the platform. She always woke up before the train came; somehow it was worse than the horror that seeing it would be. There was always a killing moment of hope that she might not be too late before she realised she was awake and in her bedroom.

She thought about Mr. Jhan a lot while she was awake.

She also thought a lot about her family, mostly because they wouldn’t leave her alone.

Cass, or course, was a regular. Timi would rise to the edge of consciousness, register Cass sleeping next to her, and sink back down into welcome oblivion, her sleep more restful for the company. Steph would sit on the bed next to her, clattering away on an ancient laptop that offended Timi’s sensibilities, bringing with her a bright wash of chatter about happenings in Gotham, weird League business, and anything and everything that she thought might hold Timi’s interest. Steph was insightful enough not to press Timi to talk when she was like this; she just gave Timi something to hold onto, something to engage her brain with while she sorted out her feelings. Aside from a singular offer to listen if Timi wanted to talk, Steph didn’t take Timi’s near muteness to heart.

She’d sometimes wake to the smell of Jason’s cheap cigarettes and would open her eyes to see him perched on her window seat, cigarette dangling from his lips and some obscure literature book in his hands. If he saw she was awake, he’d simply start reading it in his deep voice until she was lulled back to sleep. She was relieved and grateful her outburst hadn’t destroyed whatever peace he’d made with the Manor and his place in it. Regardless of the disaster Extravaganza Week had turned into, at least that part had worked flawlessly.

She didn’t see very much of Damian. She _did_ see quite a bit of Alfred the cat and Titus. Titus would either bring her toys to throw or be flopped on the floor next to her, twitching in doggy dreams. Alfred would jump up and join her in her payment of her egregious sleep debt, kneading a spot for himself before curling into a drowsily purring ball of fur. Damian had merely shrugged the rare moment she actually saw him, saying something along the lines of him keeping his rooms warm because he didn’t like air conditioning. As far as he was concerned, his beloved pets were free to go wherever they were comfortable.

It was such an enormously obvious lie she couldn’t even call him on it. Things were as bad as they would likely get, she thought grimly, if even _Damian Wayne_ felt sorry for her.

She never saw Dick at all. But there was a bag of chocolate dipped pretzels tucked under her bed, right where an idle hand of a man about six feet tall could reach them while camped out next to her bed while she slept.

Of Babs she saw very little as well, but Oracle was an omnipresent force anyway, an invisible partner behind every screen she could access. Timi was faintly annoyed that Babs had locked down all her ongoing casefiles and replaced her OS with nothing but games, but she took both the hint and the service in the spirit in which it was given. Babs wanted her to rest her mind before she burnt it out like an overloaded bulb. Timi’s lassitude was sometimes so intoxicating that she couldn’t do anything but agree. She didn’t feel equal to casework, even cold cases.

Even if she agreed, though, the enforced rest didn’t make her feel much better. Shame and failure were poor bedfellows for guilt and anxiety. She felt lost, directionless.

Eventually, she could stand it no longer. She heaved herself out of her bed (Alfred gave her reproachful looks for this crime) and grimaced as she rose to her feet. Two straight days of being bedridden, plagued by sleep and weirdly coddled by her siblings, had knocked her sensibilities all out of alignment. She needed to recalibrate.

She dressed casually with an eye to blend in. With her tennis shoes loosened to maximum width, she could wriggle her heavily bandaged and padded feet into them. She brushed her hair and felt slightly more energetic for having done so.

Now for the hard part. She’d woken up alone, but it was early in the night and the others were probably off on patrol right now, or just about to start. While she appreciated their efforts to keep her company, she didn’t know if she wanted them hovering around right this second. They’d probably object to her leaving the room at all.

She’d need assistance if she wanted to get some fresh air and space, a chance to get away from the sour tangle of guilt in her mind. Resigned to taking a gamble, Timi carefully hobbled downstairs to the kitchen, where she could hear the radio going. Alfred was old fashioned in his entertainments.

She took a breath and shuffled in. “Alfred?”

Alfred looked up from where he was doing something arcane to the oven. “Miss Timi! What are you doing up?” he tutted, but with no real censure. He knew his birds.

Timi shrugged. “I’m tired of staring at the same four walls, honestly. I’ve run out of things to read… well, that anyone will let me read. I can’t possibly sleep any more. And...” Timi hesitated, because this was a gamble. “I was wondering if you could drive me somewhere.”

Alfred viewed her with piercing focus. She didn’t squirm. “You are not,” he said slowly. “In the best condition at the moment, Miss Timi. I shouldn’t think that you’d be up to anything strenuous.”

Timi felt heartened. It wasn’t a flat no. “Nothing strenuous, I swear. Just a short walk up a hill.”

Which is how she ended up hobbling up the path of the Bristol Cemetery while a muggy but not quite unpleasant night folded itself down across the last of the summer twilight.

The Drakes weren’t rich enough in ascendants to merit a family mausoleum on their home ground like the Waynes had. But they had, for the last couple of generations, been planted for eternity in one of the better bone orchards of Gotham, one littered with fancy crypts and tombstones, for those that wanted to announce their immortality with style.

She found the Drake monument in a tasteful, quiet little side area, away from the gaudier temples. Her grandfather had designed it with a soft Grecian bent, a little, austere Patheon, built to spit in the face of time.

The heavy door into the crypt proper was bolted shut, of course, and while Timi was skilled enough to pick it, she contented herself with sitting on the low steps, propping herself up against one stair wall.

“Hey Dad,” Timi murmured tiredly. “Sorry I haven’t been in a while. I’d say hello to Mother too, but she would have said this was illogical. I doubt she would linger as a memory here; not, as she would point out, when the actual memory of her is living inside my head. Hello, Mother, anyway,” Timi sighed. “I should have bought flowers,” she eyed the empty bouquet holders on the pediments of the tomb. “This place sure could use them.”

“It’s been a year,” Timi said to the air. “It’s been…quite a year, actually. A couple of them, even. A lot of people I know died. God, Steph was buried…. Six rows down from here? Or, an empty coffin, anyway. Bruce felt so bad about that, you know. About everything.”

“It was okay though, she came back. They _all_ came back. All of them,” Timi’s smile was brittle. “Except you. I should be more grateful, I guess. Not everyone gets to get people back from the dead. But that’s the problem, you know? People die,” Timi wavered. “They die and the world changes. And they come back, and the world doesn’t _change_ back. It goes on, they go on. And the people that were left behind once have to kind of,” Timi flicked her fingers. “Flail their way through it all, trying to get some footing before the next big change comes along to knock them down again. It’s hard,” Timi admitted. “It’s a struggle to find some sort of equilibrium. It gets harder to trust it when you have it. I thought I could find it if I had enough work to do... but even that knocks me down when I least expect it.”

The crypt didn’t answer her, but it wasn’t supposed to. It was such an odd little ritual, this, pouring her whole self out in ways that she’d never been allowed to do to living people, a trust she’d never had until almost the end. It was like she wasn’t even trying to talk to his ghost, but to the ghost of her relationship with him, the unfulfilled promise of _one day_ that lingered in her thoughts when all the pain and guilt and anger had faded away.

“I screwed up again, Dad,” Timi looked down at her unlaced shoes, not quite good enough to hide her poor, swollen, abused feet. “You must be sick of hearing about my screw ups now, huh? Boomerang and Conner and running off all over the world, chasing a ghost. I just bounce from one mistake to another these days. This one was a doozy. We had a week planned, an Extravaganza Week. You can do anything you want as long as it’s fun, fun, fun! Anything you want. Anything you can think of. I don’t think about fun very much, though. Never have, right? I took after Mother in that regard.”

“I… I couldn’t do it,” Timi bit her lip. “The Week, I mean. I kept getting distracted by work. I kept letting myself get distracted, you know, because I’d never been invited to an Extravaganza Week before and that stung…. but what could I say? I hadn’t been invited for a reason, right? I wasn’t chosen, I wasn’t invited, I just forced my way in and then they were stuck with me. You don’t celebrate people pushing into your home uninvited. Only I _was_ , I was invited this time. This was my chance and I blew it. I was so busy with work that I ruined it anyway which, okay, maybe that means they had a point?” It hurt to say it, but she had to work that thorn out of her heart, expose it to the killing light of day. She couldn’t be angry at _them_ if _she_ was the problem. Right?

Bruce had said he was sorry. He’d _meant_ it. Her siblings were all hovering around, trying to make her feel better even though she said all those awful things, all those hidden, angry thorns rising to the surface. It was tangling up her world view, making her long for clarity.

“Maybe I just wasn’t meant for family,” Timi mumbled. “I couldn’t even love the one I was born to. Even criminals can manage that.” There was her deepest and most shameful guilt; she couldn’t love them. She’d tried, desperately, once. She’d thought if she loved them enough, showed it enough, they’d stay with her. It turned into an unsustainable state the further into Robin she’d ventured. Her mother had been practically a stranger to her when she died, her father didn’t make it much higher than that. Deep in her heart, Timi feared that the problem was somehow her.

Two families. Three, really. All of them crumbled or evolved past her. Timi is logical. She can do the math. She could find the common denominator.

“Oh babydoll,” a voice broke into her glum reflections. “You know that’s not true.”

Timi nearly jumped out of her skin. She squinted into the muggy, steaming night. “Dick?”

Nightwing emerged from the gloom between various crypts, looking tired and upset.

Timi felt a rush of embarrassment. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?” Suddenly she scowled. “Does B have telltales on me? What the hell? I’m sick, not grounded!”

Dick settled on the steps next to her, and proceeded to give her a long, arch look.

“Right,” Timi muttered. “It’s B. He thinks those things are exactly the same.” She stared at her feet speculatively. She’d bet her trust fund there was a Batbug somewhere in the folds of the wrappings, although she never ruled out the possibility that B gave in to paranoid temptation and just chipped them all whenever they got stuck in medical. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Geez, he could be such a creeper.

“So, what, you drew the short straw or something?” Timi grumbled, feeling awkward. “Come watch the sad bird cheep at a gravestone?”

“Timi,” Dick breathed, wounded. “That’s not it at _all_.”

Timi grimaced, already regretting the sneer.

“I wanted to be the one,” Dick insisted. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You haven’t been around very much, Dick,” Timi couldn’t help but point out. “Not while I’m awake. I thought… look, I’m sorry I ruined Jason’s Day, okay? I know that was the one that really mattered to you.”

Dick buried his head in his hands. “That’s not… Okay, we’re not doing this. We’re not letting this, this, stupid miscommunication continue. Timi? For the record, I don’t give a shit about Jason’s Day. You know why? Because Jason didn’t either.”

Timi stared at him.

“Really,” Dick nodded. “He and I talked about it and he laughed in my face about the whole welcome back to the family thing. Not because he didn’t want it or it had no meaning to him, it’s just,” Dick tangled his fingers. “Jason doesn’t think in terms of rituals. He’s not romantic. If he didn’t think he was welcome in the family or didn’t want it, he, in his words ‘wouldn’t fucking be here’. In Jason’s mind it was… not finished, exactly, but settled when he willingly came in through the door. He doesn’t need any grand ceremonies. It was me,” Dick confessed. “I’m the romantic. I needed the ritual. Only I didn’t realise that until he pointed it out to me. I… was so desperate, you know? So much has changed about us and I wanted to… to affirm that the fundamentals were all still there. That _we_ were all still there. Things have been so bad lately that I went overboard with it.”

“Wow,” Timi blinked. “Jason’s a penultimate lying liar who lies.”

Dick blinked.

“Seriously Dick, you didn’t buy that nonsense, did you?” Timi snorted. “Jason will never _admit_ it, but he damn well _needs_ all that stupid family bonding stuff you rope us into. It’s like you said; he doesn’t need the ceremony, but he’ll show what he thinks through what he _does_ , not by what he _says_. He’ll bluster and deflect eight ways from Sunday, but every time you offer, he’ll gripe and growl and then he’ll _show up_. Just like he showed up for Extravaganza Week. Every. Damn. Time. I’m calling bullshit!”

Dick burst out laughing. He folded up around it, shoulders heaving with mirth. “Oh my god. That’s so… you.”

“So me what?”

“You,” Dick wiped away tears. “You just… advocate for people. All the time. Even when you think they’re being stupid.”

“Dick, if I’m going to start throwing rocks at everyone who I think is stupid, I’m going to have to buy a quarry,” Timi rolled her eyes.

That set Dick off again.

“Seriously, what are you doing here, Dick?” Timi asked when he calmed down.

“Seriously, I wanted to talk to you,” Dick huffed. “Only, when I got here you started spouting some nonsense about not being made for family and really, babydoll, I’m calling _twelve_ different kinds of bullshit on that. You,” he declared, jabbing a finger at her. “Are a part of this family. You’re a part of _my_ family. We’re shitty at saying it, we’re even shittier at knowing that we _have_ to say it, but you _are_. I wish I knew what to say,” he ran fingers through his hair, “to convince you. I wish I could go back and find when that seed of doubt was planted and just… just rip it out. I wish, god, I wish I could just _go back_ a year and just punch past me in his face.”

“What?” Timi stared at him.

“For taking Robin. For driving you away.”

Timi already hated the direction this was going. “It doesn’t matter, Dick,” Timi repeated wearily. “Even if you were less ham fisted about telling me, Damian still needed Robin. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But if I’d just… just talked to you about it,” Dick’s mouth twisted. “You might not have gone running over half the world all by yourself. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, you wouldn’t have ever thought you had no family.”

Timi felt wrong-footed by his words. “Yet, if you hadn’t… done what you did, then I never would have had the drive to _find_ Bruce,” Timi pointed out slowly. “You’d still be in the cowl and miserable about it, and I’d be stuck in Gotham without a purpose, without a chance to grow. If I had to be kicked out of the nest to spread my wings, Dick, well, nature’s like that sometimes. Cruel for the sake of the greater good. It’s fine.”

Dick stared at her before heaving a breath. “I really hate this, you know,” he said softly. “You’re doing it again. Talking _at_ me from behind your wall.”

“I don’t know what you _want_ from me, Dick!” Timi threw up her hands. A more fraught conversation she hadn’t had with him in a year now. This is why she _avoided_ them. “I keep trying to move past this and you keep poking at it! It was awful and I don’t want to do it again, but why do we keep bemoaning it? Why can’t we just celebrate the results?” Timi said plaintively.

“Because you’re _not_ ,” Dick retorted. “You’re not celebrating and you’re not happy and that matters to me, okay? How the hell could I ever be happy knowing that you’re miserable? Extravaganza Day wasn’t just about Jason. It was about _you_. I wanted you to have some fun, be a normal kid, play! I wanted you to… forgive me.” Dick’s mouth twisted. “I thought if I could just make you smile again it’d be like the old days; you and me across the rooftops and against the world. But that’s not going to happen, is it? I haven’t earned your trust back yet.”

Timi was struck mute. She closed her mouth.

“That’s fine,” Dick assured her hastily. “It is. I’m going to keep trying, babydoll.” Dick’s mouth firmed. “I’ll keep trying as long as it takes. As long as you want me to. But, for whatever it’s worth this late and inadequate, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took Robin away. I’m sorry I made you think that without Batman — Bruce — that you were disposable. That you didn’t have a _place_. You have no idea how much I wish I could take it back,” Dick looked down at his hands. “All of it.” He scrubbed his eyes.

Timi slumped. A year ago she would have greedily taken this apology with both hands. A month ago her skin would have been so thick, and her heart so wary, that it would barely have pinged.

Seeing Dick miserably crying in the rain after a year of growing and changing topped with a heat stroke-induced emotional collapse was… well, it was a lousy way to gain perspective.

Timi opened up. “Don’t you see, Dick? It wasn’t about Robin,” Timi shook her head. “It was never about Robin. I’d’ve given Robin to Damian myself eventually. I loved Bruce; I would have done everything in my power to make sure his legacy stayed alive. Even if that meant giving Robin to someone who _hated_ me, I would have done it. It was about _Nightwing_.”

Dick’s head jerked up towards her.

“You gave Damian Robin,” Timi looked at her hands. “You said we were equals. But that should have meant I was Nightwing, right? That’s what Nightwing was to Batman. But you never offered,” she clenched her fists. “You never gave me the opportunity to prove myself. You said we were _equals_ , Dick,” the morass of old hurt and anger welled up. “And in the same breath turned around and said I didn’t get to cast a vote. Only one of those things could be true at once.”

Silence overtook them both. Dick was frozen beside her.

But it was all out now and Timi just had to keep going.

“I get it,” Timi added bitterly. “I do. I forced Bruce to take me when he didn’t want another kid. He got used to me, but I wasn’t his responsibility and I couldn’t be yours either. It just stung being reminded that I wasn’t one of the chosen ones. It’s _fine._ I chose myself. I’ve always chosen myself.”

“Timi, that’s…” Dick began in a small voice. “You’re wrong. You’re wrong about that. You _are_ one of the chosen ones, you’re a part of the family. We… we’d never function without you.”

“So you need me,” Timi shrugged. “You need lots of people to make this thing run, Dick. They don’t all need to be family.”

“No, you’re _wrong_ ,” Dick seized her by the shoulders. “It’s not about _need_ , we _want_ you here. If you stopped being Red Robin _today_ , I’d still want to ask my sweet baby sister how her day is going or what boys she likes or what she wants to do with her life. This has _nothing_ to do with the Mission, okay? This is about movie nights and you sending us memes and taking all the family photos so we remember all the good times and taking care of feral cats and playing music for us every Christmas, every birthday. _Timi_ ,” Dick shook her. “There are a hundred million bits of you that have nothing to do with the Mission that are tangled in us… if we lost Red Robin, it would be a loss, but if we lost _you_ … we wouldn’t come back from that. We wouldn’t be the same ever again. And you know what?” he added while Timi gaped at him. “You’re fucking right. I should have offered you Nightwing. That would have been the right thing to do. I was too much of a coward. I held on to Nightwing because I wanted to fool myself into believing I’d go back to it someday, because I was flailing trying to handle the cowl. I kept it in reserve when I could have offered it freely to someone who really needed it, who could have done it proud. I’m _sorry_ ,” Dick started to cry as he hugged her. “I’m so sorry.”

Timi froze up when his arms first wound around her, but the words suddenly penetrated like a knife, stabbing right into the tightest and most tangled knot inside of her. Dick had told her that sometimes you need to hear the obvious spoken out loud. Timi hadn’t known how true that was until this moment.

Timi relaxed and hugged him back tight. Maybe she wasn’t all the way to forgiveness yet, because there were a hell of a lot of scars to be counted, but Timi could feel the currents changing, swinging her in the right direction. It was more than she’d had in a whole year.

When she let him go, her eyes were wet too.

“Come on,” Dick cut through post-emotional discussion with ease. “Let’s get you back home. I don’t know about you, babydoll, but I’m feeling a disturbance in the Bat Force. Batman’s probably fretting on a rooftop somewhere, watching our trackers.”

Timi snorted. The sad thing about it was that he probably was. “Such a creeper,” she muttered as Dick got to his feet.

“He cares, babydoll,” Dick shrugged. “He’s literally out of his mind with worry for you right now. Come on,” he turned his back to her and cupped his forearms backwards, wriggling his fingers. “Climb on.”

“You _are_ joking?”

“Babydoll, it’s either this or I bridal carry your skinny butt,” Dick told her cheerfully, unmoved. “Think of it this way; the less you use your feet the faster they’ll heal and the faster you’ll get to go back to giving us all grey hairs again. That’s logical, right?”

It did have a certain rational through line. Timi conceded with slightly ill grace anyway, grumbling as she climbed aboard the Nightwing Express. “This is stupid. I walked up here, you know.”

“And now you’re being carried down. Mute suffering is not a sign of toughness babydoll,” Dick goosed her a little as he began to head back down the slope. “It’s a sign of system failure — either yours or someone else’s. You’re the one who kept telling me that, remember?”

“Hm,” Timi rested against his back.

“Hey, um,” Dick added tentatively. “I heard about… Mr. Jhan. I’m so sorry, babydoll. What happened to him was not your fault.”

Timi didn’t speak for a while. “You heard, huh?”

“We pieced together what happened to you after they broadcast,” Dick replied grimly. “And from what B told us. He was pissed. So are we, frankly. You never should have been in a position where heat stroke was even an _option_. What the fuck were those reporters thinking?”

“Is B really that bad?” she asked tentatively.

“Are you kidding? You should have seen what he did to the board,” Dick whistled. “Holy shit, he skinned them _alive_.”

“He _what_?” Timi gaped. Oh god, what kind of havoc was she going to go back to?

“Oh, it was _epic_ , babydoll,” Dick told her gleefully. “Word got out that the youngest CEO in America had collapsed from heat stroke because of a total failure in both communication and OH&S. The press is having a field day with that. Bruce turned around and put the whole mess squarely on their shoulders. It’s the Hunger Games in there at the moment. They’re scrambling for a fall guy, but after hearing Brucie Wayne shout at them for twenty minutes straight and then lecture them for an hour more, everyone knows which way the wind is blowing. All the old assholes will be long gone by the time you go back to work.”

Timi moaned. That was going to be a _mess_.

“Hey, hey, none of that,” Dick jolted her as he walked along. “They‘re damn lucky they didn’t get a night-time visit from some very pissed off vigilantes. I had dibs on Frederick.”

“You don’t understand, I need them,” Timi groaned. “I don’t want them _at all_ , but I need them.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick growled. “Fuck corporate politics. Hanging a sixteen-year-old kid out to dry in a concrete plaza during a heatwave is _not okay_. I’m still baffled as to why you let them get away with that. I don’t know why you didn’t just refuse to make a statement at all. It’s not like they had any leverage to demand one, not with a parade of happy, paid workers ready to tell the world.”

“Politics nothing,” Timi grunted. “They know where bodies that I need to find are buried, Dick.”

“What now?”

Timi sighed. “Do you know what Peakcod actually did, Dick?”

“No,” Dick craned his head around to look at her curiously. “The press said it was some kind of local manufacturing firm.”

“They made batarangs.”

Dick stopped walking. “What?”

“Seriously,” Timi insisted. “Not the finished product, we do that with the fabbers at the Cave or at our bases; but the blanks, the perfectly made alloys sheets that fit just nice into the machines? Somebody makes those, Dick. Peakcod made those. They made a few different parts in your batons too, some of the parts for our suit buckles and fasteners. Not everything, of course. And they certainly weren’t the only company making those exact things. I know back in the day B used to forge his own stuff, hand build it, but the job got bigger and we wouldn’t have the time to make them in the quantities we need anymore, so we outsource to Peakcod and literally a thousand other tiny little outfits all over the world.”

“They’re not on the books. They’re not on our books, they’re not on WE’s books… they’re legit companies, but they don’t have PR branches or stockholders; they just exist and punch out random parts and pieces made to exact specifications from patents that no one knows who owns, ship it to various other companies who ship it to others, and then eventually it ends up at a private residence or a plant somewhere and gets distributed via the post. It’s a network of dead ends, each hand not knowing what any of the other hands are doing and having no idea there’s even a chain. Nothing connects to the Bats. Nothing connects to the Waynes. _Nothing_ , Dick. The money comes from everywhere, the companies change around frequently, we fire and rehire certain firms, change up who makes what. Hundreds of thousands of people punch in everyday and have no idea they’re working for Batman.”

“It all worked fine because whatever else he is, Batman is the world’s finest systems engineer. But when Ra’s and the League tried to take over, it went bad. Really bad. _That_ above all else, was what Ra’s wanted. The shadow manufacturing arm, the network of people and supply chains that keep us armed and safe. All those people know is they’re making parts. They aren’t going to notice if the parts change and suddenly they’re making actual, lethal weapons. It’s set up in such a way as they never really know what the final product is and there’s no government watchdogs keeping track of the workers either. They’re off the books, Dick. That makes them _vulnerable_.”

Dick drew in a breath. “Ra’s got his sticky little fingers in there, didn’t he?”

“In Peakcod? Yes. And the one thing to remember about Ra’s? He wants a glorious utopia for mankind. But individual people are, to him, disposable and interchangeable. He doesn’t care about minimum wage, he doesn’t care about insurance. He cares about results. If a bunch of desperately poor people work themselves to death because he resets quotas and changes management, well, what is that to him? Plenty more where that came from. The world’s full of poor people.”

“Are there others?” Dick asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Timi replied. “I hope not, but I don’t have access to the whole. The system is such that no one does. I’m _hoping_ Peakcod was just a test run for Ra’s, a way for him to see how far he could stretch the system with the moles and buy-offs he had on the Board. Plus, it was a local Gotham firm, so it was a nice little screw you to _us_ as well. A way to drag us all down to his level.”

Dick craned his head round. “How’s that?”

“We never think about it, do we?” Timi replied “When we run out of raw material, we just lodge a request through the Bat Computer and wait for the post to arrive. We don’t think about the day-in-day-out factory worker who punches out the stuff and goes home to her family. When Ra’s messed with Peakcod and drove it into the ground, he handed us the mallet. Don’t you see, Dick?” Timi said urgently. “Those people were suffering, they were starving and sick, they were living in cars, and they couldn’t leave. They were _dying_. Mr. Jhan made parts for us for fifteen years, he was thorough, he cared about getting it right, and then fortunes turned around and sucked him and his co-workers dry. It wasn’t the Joker or Two Face or Penguin. It wasn’t some mafia don or corrupt councilman. It was _us._ _We_ did that to them. Every order we put in went to Peakcod, who had to half kill themselves for not enough pay to get it out… how Ra’s must have laughed, watching us unknowingly rip one disenfranchised group to pieces trying to save another, thinking we were in the right when we really were dropping down to his level. I had to fix it, Dick,” Timi added in a small voice. “ _I_ had to fix it. No one else was in the business end, it was just me. If you’d sprung Extravaganza Week on me any other day, any other week, I’d have laughed it off, I’d have _been there_. I’m not very good at fun, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to have it.”

“Babydoll,” Dick sighed as he got moving again. “Why didn’t you just tell us?”

“Didn’t want to spoil it,” Timi admitted, then laughed bitterly. “But I did anyway, huh?”

“No, you didn’t and no, you wouldn’t have,” Dick refuted swiftly. “We can help you with that stuff too, babydoll. Not just the cape stuff; life stuff. We _want_ to help. We want to help you as much as you help us every day. Why wouldn’t we?”

Timi breathed out against his warm back. “I know. I don’t think to ask for help. It’s not that I don’t know that I need it, I just don’t think that way. It’s just the way I am, Dick. That’s just the way it is. I never had anyone to ask until the point that it was just normal not to.”

“Hm,” Dick was thoughtful as he reached the cemetery gates and let himself through. “If… if I asked you to spend, I dunno, an hour every week just telling me everything that’s going on in your life — everything; good, bad, boring, whatever — would you do that? It doesn’t have to be me,” he added. “But someone. Anyone.”

“You mean like… therapy?” Timi asked, puzzled.

“No, I mean like if you wanted to try breaking the conditioning that makes you not want to unburden yourself onto others,” Dick corrected quietly. “What happened wasn’t your fault, babydoll. Any of it. If we’d been paying attention like we should have, it would have been pretty obvious that you had no idea what Extravaganza Week entailed. That’s on us. I want to fix that, but I don’t think you want us hovering over you like a flock of hawks. So, maybe, we should work it from the other direction. We get into the habit of not watching, but listening. Life reports rather than just case reports and stuff. I think we should talk about all the human, boring bits too. I think it might help us communicate better. It might help all of us to do that, actually.”

Timi silently absorbed that as Dick continued his steady stride down towards the carpark.

“Think about it, anyway,” Dick asked quietly when the silence persisted too long. “I don’t want your only option for getting things off your chest to be talking to a grave. I don’t want you to ever think you can’t come to us with your problems outside of the mask,” Dick jostled her. “We care about those too. We care about you.”

The thought of such an exposure, such a vulnerability, made something lurch frighteningly inside of Timi. A part of her was repulsed, reflexively and irrationally. When she forced herself to examine the feeling, she had to concede that maybe that was the point Dick was trying to make. Talking to them shouldn’t scare her like the idea of it was scaring her.

“I don’t think I’d have very much to say,” Timi admitted quietly.

“Whatever you have, we’d listen to it,” Dick said firmly. “Because it’s you saying it and we love you.”

“… I love you too, Dick.”


	21. Benediction

_The street kid Bruce brought home was… well, she was strange. Timi was trying to get along with her, because Bruce had brought her in from the cold streets, all raw bones and haunted eyes, but Miss Cain wasn’t making it easy._

_She was standoffish. She didn’t seem to feel an inclination to engage with anyone; not at mealtimes or around the Manor anywhere. She was a silent shadow, better at stealth that Timi could hope to be in her wildest dreams. She ghosted around, poking things and appearing where you least expected her._

_She frowned a lot whenever Timi was in the room. Not an angry frown or a puzzled frown. An annoyed frown. Like something about Timi bugged her. Timi couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was, though._

_But Bruce had brought her here and she was important to him, so Timi shoved her ambivalence aside and kept trying to welcome her. She knew Miss Cain couldn’t talk, so getting a response would always be a tricky proposition; nevertheless, you didn’t need her saying it to see she was unhappy and wary about this place she’d landed in after so long in the gutters of Gotham and longer than that in worse places._

_Her strategy of continually trying to engage Miss Cain wasn’t going very well, Timi conceded, as she absently rubbed a hand over her bruised chest. All she’d asked was if Miss Cain had wanted to play a game. The other girl’s face had twisted with terror and rage and the next thing Timi knew she was halfway across the room with bruised ribs and a bruised back while Miss Cain stalked in the opposite direction, clearly furious._

_Timi had been stunned. The other girl had been inhospitable and uncommunicative, but she’d never once been out-and-out violent before. Something Timi said must have triggered it. She hadn’t seen Miss Cain’s file yet; between training with Dick and schoolwork and casework and getting Steph to Lamaze classes, she hadn’t had the time to ask Bruce. The file itself wasn’t accessible on the Bat Computer and while Timi was now Oracle-trained and able to hack past the various protections, she’d given her word to Bruce that she’d at least ask first._

_Timi felt weirdly crushed by Miss Cain’s rejection. She’d never quite managed that elusive bond of sisterhood with any girls her own age until Steph came along, and Steph had her own problems right now that she had to sort out, leaving Timi floundering for companionship. She had Ives, of course, but everyone in that group were boys and sometimes, she hated to admit, it was like they were speaking their own language that left her on the outside. It wasn’t deliberate, it was just a guy thing._

_Honestly, having Steph had awakened a whole new yearning in her. She wanted, desperately, to have_ girl things _. With other girls. Being Robin was the best thing ever, but she tended to spend a lot of her time around boys as a result._

_Spending ten minutes straight prostrate on the Blue Room’s floor hadn’t been the most optimal start to her campaign of branching out._

_Timi decided to put aside her hurt and go for a run before patrol. She put on her well-worn glitter-red shoes and ended up pounding a steady pace around the expansive border wall of Wayne Manor in the deepening shadows of late afternoon, letting her woes fall away behind her. She missed Bruce. He’d run with her some days, keeping to a slow lope to compensate for her much shorter legs and keeping up a steady stream of weird historical factoids and old case studies from the files to keep her amused. He’d been different around her for a while now. She couldn’t call Mother’s passing or Father’s incapacitation the cause because she’d been aware of subtle changes before that, but it was when she had come to live here full time that the whole paradigm had really shifted and settled into new dynamics._

_She’d been worried about being here at first. She knew it wasn’t exactly what Bruce wanted. He never wanted another after Jason. But weeks of careful kindness and steady support had chipped away at her reservations. It was enough to convince her that, while it may not be exactly Bruce’s fondest wish, he didn’t actively dislike having her here, which was far more of a benediction than she’d ever dreamed of asking for._

_And now there was Miss Cain. Cassandra. Timi’s thoughts soured slightly._

_She didn’t blame Miss Cain for being… well, unfriendly. She was raised in an unfriendly place by deeply unfriendly people. What else could she be after that? But Timi was aggrieved that all her efforts to welcome her had been brushed aside like a speck of dust. It couldn’t be because Miss Cain didn’t understand what she was trying to do. She responded to Bruce pretty well and, aphasia aside, seemed to have no problems interacting with Alfred either. It was just Timi that she disdained._

_It was annoying. It hurt. They’d been just fine, the three of them — Bruce, Alfred and Timi. Now there was a fourth person and every time Timi tried to sail with the tide she was hitting a reef._

_Bruce had told her to be friendly, to welcome her. Well, Timi was_ trying, _dammit._

_Heart pounding through her still aching chest, she slowed to a walk in the field of clover overlooking the Manor and felt her rough emotions ease slightly at the sight of it._

_It was nice living at the Manor. It wasn’t quiet like she was used to and she didn’t have the same level of control over her comings and goings, but… somehow having breakfasts and dinners with people and being told to have a good day at school and all the extra noise and duties and chores never became onerous or stifling. It felt like she fit in here, or maybe she could claim a space here. Like someone would think she was worth giving a space to instead of begrudgingly making room._

_She missed her parents every day. But she couldn’t deny that neither of them had been very good with kids. Bruce Wayne at least had a little more experience with that sort of thing. Alfred certainly did._

_Timi sat down in the clover, which the seasons had turned into a carpet of tiny pink flowers standing upright on their stems in a vivid green forest. She tried to get back the feeling of peace she thought she’d found here, but the shifting landscape had awakened an old anxiety._

_The more she looked at the Manor, the more the seed of doubt burrowed its way under her skin._

_Did she really have a place here? She’d thought so, she’d been ready to believe it, she’d hoped. But now Bruce had brought home Cassandra Cain. A child he’d chosen to bring here; a privilege that Timi couldn’t claim. Bruce had taken Timi in because her options had been so limited and, well, Batman still needed a Robin._

_He’d never shown any signs that indicated he needed a Timi._

_Timi disconsolately picked clover flowers, good mood evaporated. What did Cassandra Cain have that she didn’t, anyway?_

_The depressing thought that followed was… quite a lot, actually._

_Eager to escape her growing conviction that the space she made here was just another tiny nook, begrudged by those that owned it, Timi started weaving the flower stems. She remembered doing this sometimes when she was very young, eager to engineer even then. One of her nannies had shown her the trick._

_She dove so deep into her self-appointed busywork that she only noticed Miss Cain’s approach right before the girl sat down next to her. Weary of offering welcomes where apparently none were asked for, Timi kept her head down and kept weaving away. She could feel the penetration of Miss Cain’s frankly intimidating, dark eyed stare, but she stubbornly ignored it. Her chest still hurt. If all she was going to do was say the wrong thing, then maybe it was better if she said nothing._

_Eventually, and amazingly, Miss Cain broke the cold silence. “Why?”_

_“Why what?” Timi mumbled, keeping her eyes on the stems._

_Silence fell again._

_Miss Cain — usually as silent as an abandoned graveyard — made a frustrated noise._

_Timi looked up to see her scowling away. Her brow was wrinkled, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked about a hundred times less like an android for it._

_Miss Cain’s mouth opened and shut a few times. Eventually she gave up trying to find words she’d never been given and jabbed a finger at the flowers piled next to Timi. “Why?” she moved her fingers in an eerily perfect mimic of Timi’s fastidious braiding._

_“Oh,” Timi looked down at her half-made flower crown. “It’s a flower crown. Like, to wear? Not that I’d actually wear it,” Timi felt flustered by that dark, penetrating stare. “Um. I make them for fun. It’s just something to do with my hands. My father always told me as long as you had hands you should either be learning with them or making with them.”_

_Miss Cain’s lips pouted. She looked confused._

_Timi felt herself tense up, ready for another attack._

_Timi wondered in that moment whether there was any chance at all Miss Cain and she would get along. The abyss of communication seemed a bottomless, impassable obstacle to understanding._

_Miss Cain frowned even harder when Timi’s body tensed up. “Why?”_

_Timi nearly groaned. Now what? She raised her eyebrows at Miss Cain…_

_… who promptly mirrored Timi’s posture and expression. It was startlingly exact._

_Timi blinked. “Why… am I scared of you?” she tried tentatively._

_Miss Cain nodded, settling back into her usual tensed up state of waiting._

_“You attacked me,” Timi told her slowly. “You kicked me really hard in the chest. I’m… worried you might do it again.”_

_Miss Cain scowled. “Game.” She spat._

_Timi was baffled._

_She must have looked like it because Miss Cain made the frustrated face again. She clapped both hands against her temples as if she could somehow shake the words loose. “Game. **Game!** ” she repeated at Timi. Then she made a sharp hard recoil, eyes wide and white. Timi never dreamed she could see such an expression of terror on Miss Cain’s usually unflappable mien._

_It washed away as quickly as it showed._

_The memory stuck with Timi. “Game…” Timi said slowly. Frowning as she tried to decipher the code. “Game… fear? Games…. Games are bad?” Timi tried._

_Miss Cain pointed at Timi’s lips. “Bad,” she repeated. “Baaad. Games._ Bad _,” she looked away, face suddenly haunted. “Bad.”_

_Timi stared at her, caught unawares by the suddenly clear signal she received. Games were_ bad _. Timi didn’t know why they were bad, but Miss Cain’s face was a ten-thousand-word picture, none of them savory. Maybe Miss Cain had thought Timi was… threatening her._

_Timi had to concede that, while Batman’s training had been arduous indeed, it had never gotten to the point where Timi had been conditioned to think games were bad. Or maybe they weren’t bad, Timi theorised, until Miss Cain found out what ‘game’ actually meant._

_Timi felt ashamed of her earlier resentment. Miss Cain had been through hell on earth and had the scars to match. She hadn’t been allowed to have shelter, or go to school, or the promise of regular meals. Whoever had done what they’d done to her hadn’t even let her have a_ voice _._

_“Um,” Timi offered tentatively. “Would you like to try,” she waved her half-done flower crown. “It’s… for fun, I guess. You know, fun?”_

_She didn’t know how well the word translated to the other girl. She looked briefly uncertain but warily shuffled closer to Timi as she took up weaving again. Timi showed her what she was doing and then handed Miss Cain the half finished one so she could try repeating it._

_The other girl took to the skill with savant-like ease. She was slowly assembling stems when Timi went to pick more clover, but by the time Timi returned she was weaving at nearly the speed of Timi, the stems bending precisely to her deft, clever fingers._

_“You’re very good at that,” Timi mentioned as she sat down again, starting her own from scratch. The comment was off hand and mild, but Miss Cain kept darting looks at her as they settled into silence broken only by the rustle of grass stems and the distant cry of birds._

_“No… like,” Miss Cain announced abruptly._

_Timi looked up, surprised. “You don’t like it?” she looked at the flower crown coming together in Miss Cain’s hands._

_Miss Cain shook her head. She pointed to Timi._

_“You… don’t like me?” Timi asked quietly._

_Miss Cain shook her head harder, frustrated, then tried again. She tapped Timi’s chest. “No-like,” she tapped her own chest. Her dark eyes were uneasy and shuttered._

_“You… think I don’t like you?” Timi repeated slowly._

_Miss Cain’s lips thinned. “No like.” It was a declarative statement, not a question. Miss Cain knew Timi didn’t like her._

_Timi sighed. “It’s not your fault,” she admitted finally, embarrassed and upset that her antipathy was so easy to see. “I’m just being stupid, that’s all.” It was stupid. It’s not like she wasn’t fully aware of the circumstances of her situation here._

_Miss Cain sat back, clearly surprised. She hadn’t expected that._

_“I think Bruce is going to make you the next Robin,” Timi admitted heavily when the silence had stretched too long. “If you want to be, that is. You should give it some consideration,” Timi tried to smile encouragingly. “It‘s a great honour, you know.”_

_Miss Cain was baffled. She pointed to Timi, then folded her fingers over the edges of her eyes in a fairly convincing parody of a domino mask._

_“Yes, I’m Robin_ now _,” Timi sighed. “But I’m not as good as the other Robins. I’m not as strong or as fast. Bruce usually chooses his Robins. He didn’t choose me, I just kind of tagged along,” Timi started to weave with slow hands again. “I’m not really the kind of Robin he was looking for.”_

_“But that’s okay,” Timi added brightly. “Bruce has got you now. I’ll never be as good a fighter as you, even if I train for a hundred years. You will be able to protect him better than I ever could.”_

_Now that she’d admitted to it out loud, Timi felt…. not better about it, exactly, but more at peace with the idea. Miss Cain would be able to watch Batman’s six out there in the cruel world, she was already a good tracker and, speech issues aside, she and Bruce were able to commune on a level few others would even be able to fathom. What better companion for the ever-silent Batman than a girl who could read the language of silence in large print?_

_She really would be a good Robin. The best._

_And as for Timi? Well, it wasn’t like she hadn’t gained some skills and wisdom in exchange for her time here. She ought to be grateful for whatever time she’d had in her stolen mantle; she hadn’t been guaranteed a single day._

_She couldn’t find much gratitude, though, no matter how deep she dug._

_She focused on weaving stems of clover, assembling something strong and beautiful from the frail and mundane. She’d find her way, somehow._

_They finished their crowns in silence._

_Miss Cain jabbed a finger at her so fast that Timi recoiled. The other girl jabbed it again and again, with steely eyed urgency. Then she cupped her fingers around her face again, looking fierce and deadly serious._

_You. Robin._ You _._

_Timi stared at her. “I don’t think I get to decide that,” she muttered. “I mean, thank you, that’s very nice of you. But Bruce is the one who chooses these things. He chose you, Miss Cain.”_

_Miss Cain scowled in frustration. She stuck to fingers up past her ears in a frankly hilarious but accurate copy of Batman’s bat ears. Then she thumped on her chest rapidly, like a heartbeat. Then she decisively pointed at Timi again._

_Bruce. Love. You._

_“Oh,” Timi fidgeted a bit. “You think so?”_

_Miss Cain shook her head. Then she tapped her eyes._

_See._

_Timi wondered if she could trust Miss Cain’s eyes. Did she understand love, had she been shown it enough, to understand what it was when she saw it? Miss Cain was insightful, distressingly accurate in her assessments, but Timi couldn’t treat that as solid evidence._

_Could she?_

_Her doubt must have shown. Miss Cain snorted and shook her head, then poked Timi in the forehead like Timi was being deliberately dense._

_“Hey,” Timi muttered. “That’s not polite, Miss Cain.”_

_Miss Cain frowned. Then pointed to herself and shook her head._

_“What?”_

_Miss Cain pointed to her. “Ti…” the name came out slow and slurred, every soundwave dragged out kicking and screaming. “T-Tiii…mmm…aa..... Tiiimmmmiiii. Tiimii!”_

_“Timi, yes!” Timi was elated by this new experiment in words. “Timi, that’s me!”_

_Miss Cain pointed to herself, brow puckered with effort. “Caahh…. Caaaaassshhh…. Ca-ca-ca- casssha…”_

_“Cassandra,” Timi spoke slowly and clearly. “You’re Cassandra.”_

_The other girl’s face screwed up as she tried again. “Caaaahhhsshhaaaah..na. Chishhhhhan… Caaaas…”_

_Timi grabbed one of her hands. “Cass,” she told the girl firmly. “Cass.”_

_“Caaas,” Cass repeated. “Cahhss. Caasss. Cass,” the name suddenly popped out, neatly and clearly. “Cass. Cass._ Cass! _” She was overjoyed. “Cass!”_

_“Cass! That’s right!” Timi cheered. “You’re Cass!” Cass’s sudden revelation was electric. Timi’s dark thoughts washed away in the face of the other girl’s clear joy in having a name she could say for herself in her own voice._

_Cass beamed. Then she looked down at the finished flower crown in her hands, and then back up at Timi, clearly not understanding what to do next._

_“Oh, like this,” Timi took her own flower crown and plunked it on Cass’ head. Cass reached up with fascinated wonder, trying to peer up at her own forehead._

_Timi dug out her phone and turned on the camera. “See? You look so pretty!”_

_Cass took the phone, mesmerised by the face on it. She turned her head this way and that, trying to see all of it at once, cheeks flushed, smile spread from ear to ear. She’d never had a chance to see herself in such a light as this before. If a stranger saw her now, she would have been the most ordinary girl on the planet._

_After a long while of looking, Cass looked down at her own crown. She shyly offered it to Timi._

_“Oh,” Timi took it with a smile. “Thank you!” She fitted it to her head. Cass had made it a bit large, so it drooped a bit over her stick-out ears, but Timi turned her head this way and that anyway. “How do I look? Good?”_

_Cass nodded eagerly, grinning._

_When Bruce came to find them for dinner, he took one look at them and burst out laughing._

_They had clover crowns, clover necklaces, clover bracelets and clover rings. Timi was just fitting up Cass for some very excellent clover Wonder Woman style bracelets, if she did say so herself._

_The field was almost completely stripped of clover flowers._

_“Shut up, B,” Timi declared boldly. “You_ wish _you looked this good, right Cass?”_

_Cass beamed. She tapped her chest proudly. “Cass!”_

_Bruce smiled at her. “Lovely to meet you, Cass,” he put a hand on her shoulder._

_Timi was surprised to find she didn’t feel the slightest bit jealous about it. Bruce looked so happy._

_“Come on, you two stand together,” Bruce scooped up Timi’s phone. “You make such a pretty picture.” He snapped off a shot of the two of them, arms around each other’s shoulders, bedecked in flowers and grinning wildly._

_By the time they made it back for dinner, they’d lost some of the flowers._

_Well, when they said lost…_

_“Good heavens Master Wayne,” Alfred looked Bruce over from the top of his flower crowned head to his flower dotted boots. “Did you fall headfirst into an Irish luau?”_

*

Timi braced with her toes, locked her spine, and deftly took hold of another handhold. The grit and grime of a hundred years of absolute failure of any cleaning attempts felt revolting on her hands, but the façade was fabulously rococo and therefore eminently climbable.

Brace, lock, reach, heft. She gained another few feet, the ground now far below, her hair whipping in the breeze and shoulders strained with effort. Timi welcomed the exertion after so long at a standstill—the restless energy that endlessly powered her through the seas of life had not remained quiescent for long. Her body had screamed for something to do.

One final row of decorative leaves on the Corinthian column she was scaling and then all she had to deal with was the overhanging pediment, a stark, brutal black shape against the murky Gotham night sky. It was all good. She could do this.

At that moment all her perimeter alarms screamed and a long arm reached down and seized her by the scruff to haul her up and over the pediment and onto the roof proper. She didn’t panic; she knew that arm pretty well. “Hey Hood. Fancy meeting you here.”

“What the actual fuck, Baby Bird?” Red Hood had the temerity to shake her a little like a naughty kitten before setting her feet on the rooftop.

Timi sighed. There were several — _thousand_ — downsides to having the family’s full and undivided attention. “Hey, I was freeclimbing buildings way taller and more difficult when I was _eight_ , thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You were an obsessed stalker then, too,” Hood snorted as Timi grimaced. “We were pretty sure you’d grown out of that shit by now.”

Timi’s face was hilarious. “ _Excuse_ me? What exactly does _your_ night job entail again? Because mine is nothing _but_ leaping off buildings and tracking people in a shady manner.”

“What are you doing out here, Replacement?” Hood wasn’t going to let her deflect.

Timi shrugged. “I had business in the area,” she told him. “Something I had to get done. I figured as long as I’m here…”

“You’d climb up the old concert hall for kicks?” Red Hood snorted under his helmet. “Try again, Baby Bird. This time really sell it.”

Timi kicked a loose stone. “I went to return Mr. Jhan’s phone to his family.” She kicked another stone. “Didn’t want to think too hard about it, I guess.”

Inwardly she cringed at the awkward little admittance. What was being a hundred percent open _like_ for Dick? Because even admitting that felt like a hook digging into her heart and pulling. Was that how he felt all the time? Because it sucked, really.

But Timi needed something and she thought Jason might help her with it. She had to give him some indication of trust to start with. That was usually the others’ misstep; they expected Jason to trust first. She didn’t, and therefore when she made an overture, he talked.

To her surprise, he hit the helmet release and yanked the offending headgear off, showing a precautionary domino mask and a magnificent array of sweaty helmet hair. He stowed it next to the parapet and sat down on the lip. “How’d that go?”

Timi shrugged as she went over to sit next to him. “How does anything like that go?” she asked rhetorically. “They didn’t know me, I didn’t really know them. All I had were a bunch of lame platitudes that they must have heard repeated to them a thousand times this week. Mrs. Jhan was happy to get the phone back, I guess. For photos and stuff. Oracle must have tapped into actual arcane energies to save as much of the data as she did on it.”

“No note?” Hood asked cautiously. “The coroner's report indicated Jhan might have had heat stroke himself.”

“You mean a suicide note?” Timi asked grimly, unsurprised to learn the family was sticking its nosy beaks into it. “No. But there was some data that didn’t survive all the stuff that happened to it.”

“So it might have been just an accident?”

Timi tilted her face up to the look at the murk, poisonous Gotham night sky. “I guess I’ll never know.”

“Well shit, Baby Bird,” Red Hood rubbed the back of his head. “I dunno if you want to cling to the worst-case scenario here.”

Timi looked over at him. “You think I should tell the story that suits me best?”

“I think unresolvable guilt complexes should be left to the hands of the family expert in ‘em, if you ask me,” Red Hood snorted. “Fuck knows it never did _him_ much good.”

“Just like that?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Red Hood shrugged. “Life’s shitty sometimes. It’s bad enough you gotta live with it daily, don’t do it inside your own skull as well. Jhan was desperate and he did a stupid thing with his desperation, whether it was taking the jump or just sitting out in the fucking heat in the first place. You carting around guilt for him doesn’t help _anybody_. If you’re gonna take on shitty jobs for people, at least take the ones you can make something good outta it. Otherwise, all you got is a shit tonne of bad thoughts preserved by your fucking ego. You don’t control everything, Baby Bird. You ain’t supposed to, you ain’t supposed to act as if ya should.”

“I know that,” Timi looked at her shoes, feet still sore and itchy beneath them.

“Yeah? You coulda fooled me,” Red Hood snorted. “People shovel their shit all over you and you keep _handling_ it instead of doing the smart thing and tellin’ ‘em to fuck right off.”

Timi made a face. “Ew.”

“My metaphor stands,” Red Hood grinned.

“Moving on,” Timi rolled her eyes. “D—Nightwing says I should start talking to people. About, you know, what’s going on in my life, I guess to remind myself that I have one outside the mask. Like therapy but without a therapist. Anything you want to know, now’s the time to ask.”

Red Hood frowned slightly. “An’ you wanna talk to _me_?”

“You won’t lie to spare my feelings,” was Timi’s brutal response. “And also, it entitles me to ask something back of you, too, Hood.”

“Tit for tat,” Red Hood summarised.

“Tit for tat,” Timi agreed levelly.

Silence. Then, “What was the deal with you and the clone?”

Timi winced.

“Hey, you started this, Baby Bird.”

“The short answer; nothing,” Timi replied heavily.

“I think I might need to hear the long answer,” Red Hood watched her keenly.

“The long answer is, it turned into nothing,” Timi shrugged. “Conner is my best friend. He was the one I hung out with the most out of the Titans because I was the one he trusted to… explain the world in a way he could understand. They left huge gaps in his education, you know? So that if he had questions, the only people he could ask would be CADMUS or Luthor. People with a vested interest in him seeing the world in certain ways. To make him dependent on them, unable to function out there in the world.”

“A leash,” Red Hood nodded.

“A leash,” Timi agreed. “Only that didn’t work out, did it? But he still needed a lot of things explained to him after he’d escaped. Superman wasn’t volunteering at the time, so it was kind of left to the Titans to raise him.”

“In other words, you,” Red Hood snorted.

Timi shrugged. “Like I said, he trusted me. So, we spent a lot of time together, just the two of us, outside of missions. I wanted to make sure he had all the tools he needed to make his way in the world, so I made sure I answered everything he asked. We talked about everything. Politics, racism, slavery, all the tricky ones.”

“Sex,” Red Hood added.

“The sex talk was easy,” Timi replied. “The relationship talk was the tricky one. Conner struggled with forming connections because of his conditioning and his erratic control. Romance was a tall order for him to cope with. Which was a problem because he was beginning to take that level of interest in people. Like, his hormones were finally starting to catch up and he was more confident around people. I noticed,” Timi blushed. “Cassie noticed too. We both started vying for his attention, but I was in front because he already spent so much time with me. I had the advantage.”

“One night, he kissed me,” Timi admitted. “I kissed him back. It was… nice. But then,” Timi sighed. “My father was suddenly out of his coma and pointing guns at B and… I wasn’t Robin anymore. I couldn’t hang out with Conner and the others like I used to. Conner used to text me all the time, though. Sometimes his messages were the only thing I had to look forward to while I was caring for Dad and getting him mobile. I thought… I assumed that we were doing the long-distance thing, you know? I thought we were a couple.”

The words just kept coming. Timi stared out at the muggy vista of Gotham. “Only, I didn’t actually clarify that with him, did I?”

“He found someone else,” Hood guessed.

“Cassie. Wonder Girl,” Timi smiled bitterly. “You should have seen it, the day I found out. I ran up to Conner and just _kissed_ him because I hadn’t seen him in _months_ and it was just after Dad died and I’d been a wreck and I was just so glad to see him, and then Cassie’s flinging me halfway across the room, and then I’m fighting her because I think she’s jealous and she’s fighting me because she thinks I’m sexually harassing her boyfriend… god, it was a mess. _Literally_. Conner had to pull us apart and I landed wrong when I lost my grip so I’m standing there with my arm busted and then,” Timi’s lips twisted. “Then he tells me he can’t be with me because I’m too _fragile_. Because he’ll hurt me physically and Cassie was strong so he couldn’t hurt her. As if being picked last because of the one thing I can’t ever change didn’t hurt worst of all.”

Red Hood considered this carefully before declaring. “What a _fucking asshole_.”

Timi turned to look at him. “He had his reasons. Conner always struggled with the non-human in him. I threw that _right_ in his face afterwards. Told him I guessed he wasn’t as human as I’d thought after all. I was really nasty about it too. I really hurt him. I knew it would hurt him.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Red Hood snapped. “He fucking ghosted you and then turned around and said _you’re_ the problem!”

“Hood, he didn’t even know what ghosting was,” Timi snorted.

“Bull. Shit. He was texting his ‘just-a-friend’, right? So why didn’t he consider mentioning his new girl to his just-a-friend?” Red Hood’s lips peeled back. “After all, you told each other everything. That’s a big ol’ pile of shit, Baby Bird. He might notta known the word, but he had the technique down pat.”

“So he was just a normal teenage boy then,” Timi shrugged. “Romantically a wasteland and inept at communicating. Don’t you dare tell me _you’ve_ never done it.”

Hood ignored this. “Asshole. Next time I see ‘im he’s gonna get a chunk o’ green rock up his ass. A _big_ chunk.”

“See, _this_ is why I didn’t tell anyone,” Timi sighed, exasperated. “I knew you’d all fly off the damn handle.”

“No, you didn’t tell anyone because you thought no one would care,” Red Hood retorted with his usual uncanny marksmanship. “After all, it ain’t like we _noticed_ you carting around a broken heart. This is the first time you’ve told anyone outside the Titans, ain’t it?”

Timi opened her mouth, then hesitated.

“Yeah,” Red Hood knuckled her forehead. “Thought so. The thing about damming stuff up tight is it tends to come out in a flood. Just like now.”

She scowled at him. His insight could be annoying as hell at times.

“I hope you gave him hell for bein’ a douche at least,” Red Hood continued.

Timi shrugged. “I left for a weekend. Came back. Added a date night to their roster and then just didn’t talk about it again.”

“You’re shittin’ me!”

“What else could I do? I’d lost. Making them miserable or the rest of the team walk on eggshells because of our drama wasn’t going to help anything,” Timi clenched her fists into her pants. “I was the leader. I had to be responsible. Besides, Cassie turned around after I’d stormed out and read Conner the _Riot Act_ for ghosting me like he’d done. I don’t think she was very happy to learn she’d been picked just for her body any more than I’d been to be rejected for mine. That helped, in a way,” Timi snorted a laugh. “Poor Conner. He just had to stand there and take it; probably as confused as hell as to how it had all happened.”

“Please, he got off fucking light,” Hood muttered.

“He died, Jason,” Timi murmured into the dark. “He died. Like you died, like B died. What more punishment could you exact than that? I was just grateful we managed to patch things up before he did. I was grateful to get my friend back, even for that short little while.”

“Seems like,” Hood muttered darkly. “His death hurt you a lot more than it did him.”

“So did yours.”

Hood opened his mouth, then shut it again. He had no adequate reply for the disarming sincerity in her voice. Jason Todd’s death had hurt her. Somehow that possibility had never occurred to him before.

Silence descended for a while as they both stared out over Gotham, not looking at each other’s faces.

“Well, I think I’ve done my bit in opening up for today,” Timi said abruptly. “My turn.”

“Ask away, Baby Bird.”

“What’s up with the others?”

Red Hood didn’t even try to talk around it. “What tipped you off?”

“N’s naturally huggy given the slightest chance to do so, but he’s still being overbearing even for him, so it got me thinking,” Timi snorted. “BG and BB might love taking me for milkshakes on their own, but when they started making noises about going to the observatory up in the mountains I started getting suspicious. O peppering me with questions about historical sites made me more suspicious. But R joining me while I meet with my chapter of the Bowery Cat Project and following me around like a helpful assistant from hell? Forget suspicion, I’m downright paranoid.”

“Did you find Mocha?”

Timi shot him a long, flat stare. She didn’t know which possibility was worse; Red Hood shadowing them through feeding feral colonies or the bizarre but possible conclusion that he subscribed to Timi’s bespoke Bowery Cat Project app.

Hood stared back, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, we found her. She’d crawled into a pothole to have her kittens and then got stuck there when someone rolled a dumpster on top of it.”

“Damn,” Red Hood growled. “That asshole better be prayin’ he doesn’t meet me anytime soon. She okay?”

The concern was weirdly genuine. Jason Todd had a soft spot for strays. It should have been less of a surprise to her than it was. “Skinny but alive. We took her and her kittens to the vet. They should be okay. And don’t change the subject. What’s going _on,_ Hood? I feel like I’m on suicide watch or something. B’s enabling this nonsense.”

Red Hood shrugged. “They’re trying to give you an Extravaganza Week, Baby Bird. Damian had a list and everything.”

Timi blinked.

Then she blinked again.

“They’re _what_ now?”

Red Hood rolled his eyes. “One of these days I’m gonna sit down with you and the biggest, most detailed dictionary I can find and pound you over the head with it until you understand what ‘self-esteem’ means. Shit, Baby Bird, do you really think that little of yourself that the idea of those idiots doing something nice for you is out of the realm of possibility? Really?”

“…No?”

“For _fuck’s sake_ …”

“But I could barely think of anything!” Timi protested. “Like _anything_. And nothing they thought was very fun!”

“It’s not about what we find fun,” Red Hood rolled his eyes. “It’s about what _you_ find fun. It’s not about us at all.”

“But…” Timi tried to get her head around this concept. “If they’re standing there forcing themselves to endure my version of fun, _I_ wouldn’t have very much fun either. That wouldn’t be fun for me.”

“What makes you think we’d be forcing themselves?” Red Hood challenged. “You might wanna give us some credit, Baby Bird. Maybe we’d enjoy it if you gave us the chance to try. After all, you don’t like baseball very much, but you seem to manage N’s Day just fine. You ever considered the possibility it’s the people you’re with and not the actual _thing_ that’s fun?”

“But that’s just it,” Timi rubbed her hands together, discomfited. “My idea of fun is stuff I came up with to do on my own. That’s where I usually have the most fun; when I’m alone, looking after my small, boring little hobbies, in what little time I have for them. I don’t think I’d be able to name enough things to fill a whole Week, not even a whole Day. It’s not like you don’t see it. You’re the one who called me weird and boring!” Timi added irritably when he stared at her.

Red Hood heaved out a breath. “Yeah, well… ‘m sorry about that. I’m an asshole who’s quick to pass judgement sometimes.”

“Oh,” Timi was taken aback. “Okay, then.”

The silence grew uncomfortable, so Hood piped up. “Look, Baby Bird. I’m pretty sure that flock of idiots are determined to give you an Extravaganza Week. If you wanna back out, that’s fine. Just let me know and I’ll make ‘em back the hell off.”

Timi fidgeted a little. “I don’t know,” she murmured.

Red Hood unexpectedly put an arm around her. “Give ‘em a chance, Baby Bird. Give _me_ a chance. I don’t think you’re boring. I’d like a chance to prove it.”

“What kind of things did you come up with? For your Week, I mean?” Timi asked.

“Shit, I can’t even remember half of ‘em. Going to the science museum,” Hood ticked them off his gloved hands. “Go karting. Non-stop Gotham ice cream tour, _fuck_ , I couldn’t even look at dairy for a month afterwards. The circus, just to rub Dick’s face in it. The zoo, ‘cause Mom always promised to take me when she had the cash, but she never really had it. I had fucking _tiny_ horizons as a kid. I coulda asked to fly around the world. Didn’t think of it. Shit like that didn’t happen for kids like me.”

Such a list of mundane but perfectly sweet pleasures of a yearning, street starved twelve-year-old made Timi feel slightly better about her lame contributions to the world’s amusements. “That sounds like fun,” she grinned at him.

“It was,” Red Hood replied distantly. “It really fucking was, Baby Bird.”

“I… I got one,” Timi added shyly.

“Yeah?”

“We could just stay here,” Timi waved at the concert hall. “For a while. There’s a concert on tonight.”

Red Hood smiled. “Sure thing, Baby Bird. Sounds like fun.”

“Did you know that street crime drops fifteen percent whenever there’s a concert here? It took me forever to figure out why the data was all messed up…”


	22. Timi's Day

_Timi walked silently into her room, shut the door quietly behind herself and then folded up against it, looking as overwrought and defeated as an eleven-year-old could possibly look. She was pale and shaken, and as she looked slowly around the room, tears welled up in her eyes._

_She didn’t know what to do._

_Her room was an explosion of chaos, wallpapered with photos, maps, pinned up sheets scribbled with increasingly frantic dates, times and facts. It was crisscrossed with strings that dangled with more photos still, making the whole space like a mad spider’s lair. Only the bed was pristine; Timi hadn’t used it in days. She slept wherever her head dropped._

_Her parents would throw a fit if they ever saw it. They, however, were safely out of the country on one of their extended tours of everywhere. Their trips had steadily gotten longer and more involved the older and more independent Timi had gotten, to the point where whole seasons could pass without her seeing them in person. The apartment was more or less Timi’s, to do with as she pleased._

_They’d never see it. They always called before they came home, to warn her to re-order with the food service for three and to organise all the other necessities they’d need to do business in Gotham_ — _arrange meetings, make sure suits and dresses were cleaned, aired and pressed, call up associates and partners to let them know. Everything had to be arranged so they could conduct whatever necessary enterprises there were to be done with utmost efficiency so they could go back to their travelling. As long as the place was tidy when they were actually there, they didn’t care what Timi did to it the rest of the time._

_Photos of Batman and Robin, both I and II, stared back at her from a hundred thousand angles and expressions, a hundred thousand fights and victories and_ moments _, spread out over the years of her childhood._

_Timi followed the line of them with her eyes and felt despair well up when she reached the final, recent shots; Batman alone. Alone and in the dark._

_Twilight no longer held a frisson of excitement for Timi. She no longer perched on rooftops and eagerly waited for a glimpse of her heroes, for the chance to capture them and immortalise the greatness she saw in them. She now waited on tenterhooks, hands white knuckled around her phone, wondering if tonight would be a bad night, where she would be calling an ambulance and praying and praying and praying until it arrived that no one she called it for died in the meantime._

_She didn’t blame Batman. Some days the wellspring of grief inside her burst like an overflowing dam, making her want to scream and cry and hit things too. What happened to Jason wasn’t_ fair _. He’d been a hero, a fighter. He’d risen up past his circumstances, past his_ blood _, and made something of himself for himself, with grit and stubbornness and ingenuity. Timi had, in a vague, dimly understood way, wanted the same when she watched it, to break out of the oppressive cage she lived in, burn the map her future was written on and blaze her own trail._

_Jason Todd had deserved better than the fate he got._

_She had to grapple with but a scrap of that injustice; Batman had been there, he’d had to carry the body of the son he’d raised home and bury him. Timi couldn’t even imagine what living with that memory, and the guilt that painted it, must be like._

_But while she didn’t blame him for his rage, not even for failing to cope with it, Batman’s darkness presented a problem that had to be dealt with. Politicians and lawyers might mumble and moan, but Gotham had gotten better, safer, under the aegis of the Dark Knight. He was the one braced on the edge of the abyss and pulling the city out of the dark, inch by heavy inch. If Batman sunk, all those people who had slowly learned to hope, who had started to better themselves and the community around them because of his efforts, would cease to try. The city would be lost. And it was the invisible people_ — _the street kids and the prostitutes and the people so poor they didn’t even get counted on a census_ — _they would suffer for it, first and longest. They were the ones Jason had wanted to help the most. If Gotham fell, all Jason’s hard work, his_ legacy _, would be lost._

_Timi had frantically searched for any solution, any permanent thing that would pull Batman off the precipice he stood on. Stopgap measures wouldn’t be enough; it had to be huge, a shock to the system. She doubted anything else would reach him now._

_She knew what the solution was. It was the same solution it always had been._

_Batman needed a Robin._

_He had Mr. Pennyworth and the League and his code, and all of it meant nothing because none of those things ever penetrated every defence, every armoured wall like the one who stood with him, the one he protected above all else._

_Batman needed a Robin._

_There was only one of those left._

_And he’d said_ no _._

_Timi hadn’t planned for that. She knew Dick and Mr, Wayne had had their issues, even over Jason after he’d died, but he was the Original, the first in the line. Dick Grayson had defined Robin. When she’d taken the gut-knotting, sweaty palmed risk of approaching him and confessing she knew their identities, she’d never considered that he wouldn’t_ want _to go back and help his mentor, no matter how bad their relationship had gotten._

_Timi ought to be grateful he’d said he’d go back as Nightwing, but she wasn’t. That wasn’t what Batman needed._

_Batman needed **Robin**._

_It was like electricity under her skin, the bubbling, seething certainty that if Batman didn’t have a Robin soon, there wouldn’t be any Batman left._

_And then… Gotham would be lost._

_Timi felt a resolve overtake the shaken sensations inside of her. She lifted her head from her knees and breathed through her tight chest._

_There was only one more option left to her now, terrifying though it was. She had to go to Batman_ — _to Bruce Wayne_ — _in person and somehow try to convince him that he needed to find another Robin. Some kid who needed someone to reach out to, for Batman to watch over, who could watch over Batman in turn._

_It seemed impossible even as she thought it. But it was the only contingency she had left._

_So she took herself into a cab and went off to Wayne Manor, feeling the clock ticking even as the sun went down. Her school backpack was gripped in her hands, stuffed to the brim with photos. Batman was a detective. She knew her only chance was to convince him based on the evidence._

_The resolve that had wound up the engine of her courage sent her out of the cab, through the gates, up the drive and to the door without faltering, but banging on the door was one of the hardest things she’d ever forced herself to do. This could be the end of her hobby, the end of her freedom, the end of everything._

_No turning back._

_Mr. Pennyworth opened the door._

_“I need to speak to Mr. Wayne,” she blurted out in a rush before the old man could get a word in. “It’s important!”_

_Mr. Pennyworth blinked at her. “I’m afraid Mr. Wayne isn’t here,” he said slowly. “He was called in on urgent business...”_

_Timi felt her chest tighten. He’d already gone out? She could feel that clock ticking down, Batman slipping away. “You need to call him back,” she croaked._

_“I’m afraid I cannot——”_

_“You need to call him back before he kills someone!” Timi almost yelled, shocked at her own rudeness. But this was life or death._

_Mr. Pennyworth’s gaze sharpened. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”_

_“Timianna Drake,” Timi panted out as she unshipped her bag from her shoulders. “You need to call him back! He’s so close to the edge, he can’t even see it!” She hadn’t bothered to empty out her bag in her panic to get to the Manor as quickly as possible. Textbooks, pens, tablets, and gym uniforms all went flying left and right as she scooped out handful after handful of photos, most of them showing Batman covered in blood, bruises and rage. “Look! That’s what he_ looks _like out there!”_

_Photos spread out on the stoop like scattered leaves. Batman, darkness, blood. And a solitary photo of Batman and Robin_ — _Jason Todd_ — _grinning at each other on a rooftop. The contrast was startling._

_Mr. Pennyworth slowly bent down, like he was trapped in treacle. He ran his fingers over each photo until he reached the only one without any darkness. He picked it up with a faint tremor in his fingers, mouth pinched tightly against some unnamed emotion. “Oh dear,” he said eventually. “Perhaps you had better come in.”_

_Timi did more than just come in. Clutching her hastily restuffed backpack like a shield, she followed Mr. Pennyworth’s stiff stride all the way to the grandfather clock… and beyond._

_Even with the seriousness of the situation weighing on her, Timi spent several minutes unashamedly gaping at the vista of the Batcave; a thousand times more…_ more _than she’d ever dreamed it would be. Her awe deflated like a balloon, though, when she saw the glass case and the empty uniform. Grief welled up in her again. Jason Todd hadn’t known her, but she grieved for him. She’d loved her Robin, once._

_She turned to find Mr. Pennyworth pounding away at the Batcomputer, looking worried. “Batman is not answering my hails,” he reported to her tersely. “Neither is Nightwing, though I know they met earlier in the night.”_

_Timi felt her heart plummet. She reached for her phone and started scrying the web for any sign, any news of the pair._

_Mr. Pennyworth found it before she did. “Two Face has them.” He brought up the grim footage being streamed live from downtown Gotham. It looked bad._

_It looked very bad._

_Timi felt panic overtake her when she saw the expression on Batman’s face. If they stayed captured, they’d die. Timi knew this. But if Batman got free… somebody else would die tonight. She could see it in his expressionless face, the rage tightening his shoulders. Somebody would die at the hands of Batman._

_Mr. Pennyworth was frantically sorting through contact lists and protocols, muttering to himself and appearing to have largely forgotten her. Timi lurched towards the glass case and the memory preserved there, tears running down her face._

_If Batman killed, then it would all be for nothing. Jason’s death would be for nothing._

_Somebody had to_ do _something._

_Timi didn’t believe in omens or fate. She didn’t believe in signs or prophecies. But in that moment she caught a reflection of her own face in the glass, lined up with the domino mask, and was willing to believe the universe was showing her the way._

_As Mr. Pennyworth scrambled to find a rescue team from scattered allies in Gotham and across the world, Timi grabbed her bag, raced over to the lockers and began to change into her gymnastics leotard. The colours were red and green_ — _it wasn’t an accident._

_While Mr. Pennyworth went through contract after contact, voice brittle and British, Timi got the case open, grabbed the mask, the cape, the gloves and the shoes, and went to find some duct tape._

_Everything could be made to fit with duct tape._

_“You do know what happened to the last Robin, don’t you?”_

_Mr. Pennyworth's quiet voice stopped her in her tracks. She hadn’t even been aware of him watching her._

_“I do,” Timi replied levelly, not looking at him._

_“… my child,” the old man looked heartbroken._

_“I wouldn’t be my first choice either,” Timi cut him off, staring down at the mask in her hands. “But Batman needs a Robin.”_

_The silence went on longer this time. Timi used it to drape and affix the cape as best she could against a uniform it hadn’t been built around, its size better suited to shoulders that were broader in their youth than hers would ever reach even as an adult. She tugged on the gloves; a little loose, but they were made to be stretched so a little binding around the wrists should hold them in place, should make them usable._

_The shoes… would never fit._

_A discreet cough made her look up from trying to puzzle out this issue._

_Mr. Pennyworth was silently holding out what looked like a roll of about six sets of socks._

_Timi felt one of the tangles of knots inside her loosen. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth,” she said as she took a hold of them._

_“I am generally called Alfred,” the old man replied gently. “Young Miss Timianna.”_

_“Timi’s fine,” Timi corrected while she rolled on sock after sock._

_Alfred deftly took the mask off her while she struggled into the surprisingly heavy pixie boots, the old man taking it away to perform some kind of arcane ritual with alcohol and spirit gum._

_Timi turned to look at herself in the glass case again._

_She looked_ nothing _like Robin._

_She looked like a ridiculous child in clothes too big. Playing pretend in a role she barely understood. Long, flowing waves of hair that no Robin had ever had before hung down her back, an indictment against her presumption and arrogance._

_Timi felt her chest tighten. She couldn’t do this. She could chase them across rooftops, she could puzzle out their plans, admire their forms, celebrate their victories; but only from a distance, only through the lens of a camera._

_She was never meant to step into the frame._

_“Batman needs a Robin,” Alfred mused from where he stood, mask in hand. “If Master Wayne were here now…” Alfred shook his head. “He would probably ask you to show your evidence. He would ask you where such a thing was written in stone that he must obey it.”_

_His dark eyes challenged her._

_Timi’s reflection stared at the empty shell, all that remained of the Robin she’d lost, and lifted her chin. She blindly fumbled in the case, hand closing around a folded batarang. “It’s written on every stone in Gotham still standing because Jason Todd was there.”_

_Her long locks sheared off in on a sharp, upwards slice, falling around her in dark streamers as they dropped._

_She couldn’t do this._

_She was doing it anyway._

_Alfred nodded, eyes gleaming. “Master Dick used to say that Robin was magic,” he fitted the mask over her face gently and with care. “That he felt it every time he wore the mask. Master Jason,” the old man faltered but kept going. “Never said as much, but I believe he felt much the same. Something about it draws the light from the darkness.”_

_Timi looked at herself again; pale face, white eyed, mouth pinched with tension and fear._

_She still didn’t look right._

_She closed her eyes._

_Robin was magic, she repeated in her head. Robin was magic._

_Ten thousand photographs stored in her memory. Ten thousand nights, ten thousand moments, ten thousand triumphs and victories and evils overcome, chins raised and ready for the next and the next and the next and the next._

_Ten thousand smiles, perfectly preserved._

_Robin opened her eyes._

_And smiled._

*

It was a perfect night at the Manor, Timi conceded, and an excellent way to round out what had been a very _interesting_ couple of weeks.

She could admit, and she didn’t even do it grudgingly either, that going with Damian to various animal shelters and charities had been a good time. Damian’s manner towards her had been stilted and fraught with odd pitfalls, but sincerity and intimacy were complicated challenges for him on his best day, so Timi could appreciate the effort he took. She got to introduce him to all the crazy cat ladies (and gentlemen too) that she knew via her self-funded Bowery Cat Project, and in the course of getting to introduce them all, wondered if he saw the parallels that she did in those people. They were mostly ex-villains, misfits, and the abandoned, who were desperately, clumsily learning to care, learning what care did to them. They built a community around feeding and tending lost strays, a connection most had long ceased believing they would ever deserve. Regardless of whether Damian saw it in the same light she did, she knew Robin would be adding extra stops to his patrol in future, for the sake of both feline and person.

It had been all sorts of, dare she say it, fun showing him what she did with her days off, and all the cute little updates she got from the Bowery residents via her bespoke app.

The Magical Mystery Milkshake Tour was fun too. Stephanie had been determined, and Cass had been amused, to try out every flavour on offer throughout Gotham by doing what she called ‘the world’s most epic diner crawl’. They wore their suits for most of it, for the discounts.

Timi hadn’t been aware you could get a maple bacon milkshake. Or a foie gras. Or a chocolate avocado. Her favourite was and would remain the Rogueshake because she could pile it high with cookies, chocolate sauce, ice cream and nuts. She liked the Poison Ivy one for the mint, Dick and Steph faced off over whether Mr. Freeze or Penguin was better, Cass contented herself with a Riddler, and Damian, after some wide-eyed consideration, got a Scarecrow because he liked the little waffle scythe. Jason got a Joker one just so he could stab the ice cream Joker in the face with a straw.

(Bruce got a Catwoman one. They’d laughed for days and days about it; especially Selina when she found out.)

Babs’ personalised murder mystery tour of Old Gotham was a blast. No cases older than the Victorian era, so there were no stakes, no grieving families, no villains to fight. It was an adventure of purely intellectual energy with some trampling around old sites, looking for old signs and hidden things that might have survived centuries. The others were all, surprisingly to Timi, willing to get invested in following century old clue trails. Timi was convinced that Bruce had more fun than she did on that one.

She maintained that flying all the way to Vienna to get a personal concert at the Golden Hall was a bit much, but that tended to be the way of it when Bruce took the helm. Bruce had no concept of _enough_ when it came to money, especially when he was spending it on his children. The concert was a delight, plus taking in a day leisurely shopping in sunny Vienna was something of a treat too. Timi had never gone overseas for leisure before—she’d never had the time. Her trips overseas were business or training, where the most relaxing thing she’d allowed herself was maybe a brief ten minute respite with a cup of coffee before she went back to work, or training, or trying to find Bruce.

She wondered if this was what it had been like for her parents between digs and business meetings; sampling the sights, experiencing and tasting and wrapping themselves up in the whole world. It was but a brief glimmer of insight, perhaps, and it didn’t mitigate their flaws in her memory, but she did for a moment or two gain some perspective on why they never wanted to give up on the pleasure of it. There was no sadness in the understanding, because she had accepted it long ago. Besides, she got to travel with her family, so she _had_ gotten her wish and it was everything she thought it would be. It just didn’t look like it had in her head when she was young, and that didn’t feel like much of a loss, to be honest.

From Vienna it was a (comparatively) short hop to Iceland, to go into the mountains and watch the northern lights before they went back home. The lights were faint during the summer, but it had been a mesmerising experience sitting all night in a twilit world where the sun never truly set, watching the lights dance and the Milky Way paint the night sky in glitter. Once again, the observatory in the Gotham Ranges would have been _fine_ , but Cass had never seen the aurora borealis before and Timi could never say no to Cass.

The memories she made were happy little jewels wired into her mind, but Timi was also glad to be back in Gotham. Something of a natural introvert, the big, lavish sweeps of fun that her family considered appropriate could be a bit draining for her.

Which is why her Extravaganza Day was dragging the lawn furniture into the patio where the jasmine curled up the decorative arches and setting up her special order film projector, hooking it up to a CPU she’d painstaking coded an OS from scratch and getting ready for a spectacular movie night out with the bats and the stars.

This night, out of all the muggy Gotham summer nights that had marched by before it, actually managed to be pleasant. The humidity was in abeyance thanks to a cool breeze, the stars were out and clear of the haze of clouds, the crickets made a merry choir deep in the grasses, and the jasmine was blooming everywhere across the patio so the night was filled with sweet perfume.

Alfred had put on an immense spread of food that Timi sighed to see. Not because it was unwelcome, exactly, but she knew that everyone would be plying her with food. It had been a consistent theme of the last few weeks. Okay, she knew her body was owed a few pounds, but it was getting ridiculous now.

Still, when Jason shoved a chocolate pie on a stick from the pie bouquet her way, Timi took her lumps with dignity. She also took the pie, because Alfred’s baking was to die for. She put her feet up and enjoyed the pre-show entertainment of Bruce, Dick and Damian muttering and sniping as they tried to set up the equipment. Babs was calmly polishing off a plate of cookies and watching them in amusement before she swept in and made them all look like idiots.

“Nice night,” Steph commented from next to Timi, idly munching on peanut butter chocolate balls, taking an unseemly amount of pleasure in watching the three technicians make fools of themselves.

“Mmmhmm,” Timi took another bite as Bruce yanked a cord with too much force and elbowed Dick in the gut by accident.

“Jesus, this is getting sad,” Jason said around a full mouth. “Go put them out of their misery, Barbie, please! I’ll tell you where the Hounds stashed their explosive ordinance.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already know,” Babs handed Cass the plate before rolling over to lambast the stooges to kingdom come.

It was spectacular. There may have been applause.

Eventually, they were ready to go. Alfred, the only one of them with any actual, practical experience with loading film reels, stepped up to the plate with Timi’s most precious inheritance from Jack Drake; some of the original cuts of the old _Godzilla_ classics. She hadn’t watched them in a long time, and she’d never shared them with anyone else ever. She thought that it was time.

“Okay folks,” Timi ceremonially booted up the laptop that had been wired into the whole mess and got the system keyed up. “Ready, Alfred?”

“All systems go, Miss Timi.” Alfred had elected to take the chair next to the projector, but Timi had insisted he come. Damian had discreetly left a tray of snacks within the old man’s easy reach.

“And here… we… go,” Timi hit enter.

An enormous, projected screen lit up the night sky behind the Manor, causing bats and moths to swerve in surprise. The opening scenes to _Destroy All Monsters_ coalesced from the screen, clean and sharp, Timi’s system scrubbing the blurriness of age from the ancient cellulite as it ran through the projector and into the digital system. The images popped up in startling 3D, larger than life while the soundtrack thundered around them.

Her siblings all jumped and cheered. “Oh my god,” Dick crowed. “That is completely _awesome_!” He laughed and laughed.

Timi smiled.

She sat back on the couch they’d dragged out here and put her feet up. Alfred had deemed her feet ready for air, so they were bare and still faintly pink where all the raw, rubbed wounds had scabbed over and then healed.

She’d be back on patrol soon enough. With Bruce edging his way back into handling WE and the others, even Jason, all sharing caseloads, Timi had a feeling she’d go back with more time on her hands, which she was surprised to find she had no objection to. Finally taking a break had reminded her that she really should do more with her hobbies. Life couldn’t be all work, all the time.

It didn’t have to be. Knowing that wasn’t as discomfiting as it had been.

Timi felt a big arm go around her shoulder.

Bruce kissed her temple. “Having fun, baby?”

Timi leaned into her shoulder, watching the hated monster struggling and succeeding at being the hero.

“Yeah, B,” Timi cuddled in closer. “I am.”


	23. Epilogue

_People were still crying and upset around her. At least they weren’t screaming anymore._

_Timi was lost in the crowd, trying to keep up with her two furious and frazzled parents as they tried to make their way out of the circus and away from the upheaval, both of them exchanging bewildered and irritable commentary on the state of Gotham and the entertainment industry in general as they tried to navigate past a maze of flashing blue and red lights._

_Timi didn’t think this was how fun was supposed to go._

_She tripped and staggered to right herself, turning to see…_

_… a boy who’d seemed larger than life itself not an hour ago, still in his dazzling costume but none of the unstoppable smile in evidence. He stood alone, clutching a blanket to his chest like no one had thought to wrap in around him, rocking on his heels, looking lost._

_Timi stared at him. He’d been nice to her. He’d been nice to her in ways she’d never thought nice could be._

_Why was he all alone?_

_“Come along, Timianna,” Mother grabbed her by the arm. “Stop gawking. It’s unladylike and rude.”_

_“But he’s alone,” Timi pointed to the boy, now the last of the Flying Graysons. “Shouldn’t we help him?”_

_“He’s not our responsibility,” Janet shrugged._

_“Responsibility?” Timi tried out the difficult word slowly._

_“It means,” Jack explained with strained patience. “To take care of something. To be in charge of it. But your mother’s right kiddo. He’s not our responsibility. Come on, we need to get going. Jesus, this was not the night I had planned…”_

_“Well, really, Jack, what more could we expect from some two-bit, flea ridden circus? These people have clearly never heard of occupational health and safety guidelines. I doubt half of them could spell it!”_

_“Hey, my folks took me to circuses when I was a kid! They were terrific fun! Or… they used to be…”_

_Timi ignored them as the discussion flew over her head and kept her eyes on the sad boy, standing like a statue in the seething crowd, alone._

_Responsible._

_Someone should take care of him, Timi decided._

_She would._

_Someone had to be responsible._

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're done! 
> 
> This was such a labour of love for me. I knew I was writing a story that not everyone would love, because genderbending and Rule 63 aren't tropes that speak to everyone, so I was blown away by the response to this fic. I was particularly moved by all those who commented that a Female Tim Drake wasn't their thing, but loved the story anyway. That meant you were here for the writing and I can't think of a higher compliment, so thank you. I'd also like to give a special thankyou to [EvelynRose33284](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvelynRose33284/pseuds/EvelynRose33284) for being my first reviewer. Your comments made my feel much better about the chances of someone liking my fic. :)
> 
> All praise and kudos for the patience and fortitude of my tireless beta [njw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw) for wading through a swamp of poor grammar and spelling to make something of this fic. You're the best!
> 
> And a special, tearful, starry eyed thankyou to YUUKI (๑╹ω╹๑ )☆ of the Capes and Coffee Discord Server for the utterly fantastic fanart. No one has ever done fanart for one of my fics before and that just blew me away. 
> 
> For anyone who wants to know what Timi played during this fic:  
> [Schumann – Traumerei](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qq7ncjhSqtk)  
> [Gershwin – Prelude No 1 (Duet)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGlcplunw0Q)  
> [Beethoven – Moonlight Sonata](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zucBfXpCA6s)  
> [Cohen – Hallelujah (Duet)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1C9kpMV2e8)


End file.
